My Brother's Keeper
by forever-a-thief
Summary: Damian was just a child when Jason left the Compound. Jason had thought he might never see that kid again, but then he showed up one night in Gotham, asking for help. (Warning: Cursing because, I mean, JASON.) Updates every Thursday as able.
1. Chapter 1

It was an oddly quiet night and that always left Jason on edge. A quiet night in Gotham City didn't mean peace, it meant someone was plotting. He was in full Red Hood regalia, stomping through the muck of back alleys, looking for someone to fight.

He was alone tonight, Nightwing traipsing around in Blüdhaven while Batman and the new Robin were all the way across town at the docks. Oracle was a godsend, giving him enough information through the coms to successfully evade the old man and his replacement. He was still bitter and angry about the whole situation, but he was starting to accept it. He was a mature adult, dammit, he could be the bigger man sometimes.

He was slightly sidetracked by his own thoughts but he had lived on the streets as a kid, not to mention been trained by the Bat himself. He knew when someone was following him, and he felt the prickling on his neck that signaled someone's eyes on him.

He kept moving, because it was stupid to let someone know that he knew they were there before he had a plan to deal with them. If he strained, he could hear the faint footfalls on the rooftop over his head. So, either the person was extremely small or extremely light-footed.

They _were_ light, though, far too light to be an adult.

A kid. _A kid_ was stalking him through the Narrows.

He came to the mouth of the alley, rolling his shoulders and reaching into his jacket pocket, dragging a cigarette and a lighter out. If he was going to confront a kid about the dangers of following the Red Hood around, he was going to need some nicotine.

With the hood tucked beneath his arm and the cigarette burning, he took a good, long drag before he leaned back against the wall of the alley and turned his eyes up. He didn't see anyone, but that didn't mean a goddamn thing.

"Alright, kiddo. I know you're up there. Time to come out and meet the big bad Red Hood."

The night was eerily silent. Jason strained to hear anything; the slight shift of fabric, a quickened breath, anything. Finally, he heard a put-upon sigh and the light foot falls landing a few feet to his left, further down the alley in the shadows. There was a hood obscuring the kid's face, but there was no mistaking that it was a little boy that had been stalking him. Even without seeing his face, Jason could see how dejected and defeated he looked.

"You shouldn't be smoking those," the boy grumbled, stepping closer. "You know how Mother hates them."

Jason dropped the cigarette out of pure shock the moment the boy opened his mouth. He knew that voice, that accent, that condescending little lilt. "Well, I'll be damned," he breathed out, smirking as he pushed away from the wall so they were standing toe to toe.

The boy tilted his head back so he could look Jason in the eye and shoved his hood back, giving the older man a sharp smirk. "It's been too long, Todd," the boy accused, folding his arms and glaring. "You promised you would visit!" he complained, pointedly not-pouting at Jason. Jason just snickered, kneeling down so he could look the boy over.

"And just _what_ are you doing in Gotham all by your lonesome, Damian? Does your mama even know you're here?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, knowing that the answer was most definitely _no_ , going by the unrepentant look on the boy's face.

"Grandfather is becoming more and more erratic. I overheard Mother say that I would be safer elsewhere until she took care of the problem. I simple took the matter into my own hands," he stated, crossing his arms and glaring up at Jason, expecting him to object.

"Oh, kiddo," he sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. "She's probably worried sick about you! Did you at least leave her a note or something? Let her know that it wasn't your grandpa that stole you away?" Damian's holier-than-thou attitude faltered for just a moment, and his shoulders slumped just a little bit more. "Ugh. Alright, here's what we'll do. I'll send a message to your mama and let her know you're alright. In the meantime, you can stay with me. It's no Demon's Head Compound, but it'll have to do for now."

Damian hung his head, shifting from foot to foot before looking up at Jason through his lashes, clenching his jaw. Jason could see the kid's fear and sadness and his heart broke at the look on the kid's face.

"What's wrong, Demon Baby?" He was still crouched before Damian, so he reached out and grabbed the boy's arms, rubbing his thumbs gently over and over the fabric of his tunic to calm him.

"Did I make an error? In coming here?" he asked, his voice small and unsure in a way Jason had not heard in many years. "Do we remain brothers, or has that changed, too?"

Jason stared at Damian in shock, struck silent by the question.

"It's just, you _left_. You said you would visit, but it's been _years_. You never came _back_ ," he said, voice cracking, his voice getting thinner and quieter the more he spoke, the more he tried to explain.

Jason sighed, the guilt of his broken promises pressing down on his heart. "I'm so sorry, Damian. Once I left, things got worse and worse here in Gotham, with Bruce and Dick and the kid that replaced me. Maybe I should have just come back to the Compound, even if it was just for a few weeks, to get my head straight again. I just didn't want to be around more people that couldn't stand me. You know what your grandpa and the rest of the League thought of me. I couldn't handle it then; I get enough of that around here."

Damian nodded, biting his lip in a rare show of uncertainty, looking so lost and dejected. Jason leaned forward, tilting the boy's chin up to look at him again. "Kid, what I'm saying is _of course_ we're still brothers. You're my little brat of a baby brother and nothing will ever change that." Jason leaned forward and tugged Damian into his arms, squeezing him tight before pressing a kiss to the kid's forehead. "Now, let's get home and get that message to Talia."

Damian reluctantly let go, face flushing a slight red, before reaching up to take one of Jason's larger hands in his own. Jason raised a surprised eyebrow at the action; sure, the kid had shown similar displays of affections when he had been just a little kid, but he was ten now. Surely that was beneath him at this age?

He wasn't _complaining_. Really. Just confused.

The walk back to Jason's Crime Alley safe house was short and silent. He led Damian up the stairs to his apartment and had him wait in the hallway while he disabled the multiple alarms and triggers he had connected to the doorknob. You know, _just in case_.

Once the door was open, Damian wandered inside. He openly stared at the planks showing through the drywall, the sofa that was sinking in the center, and the dim yellow light slinking its way through the blinds in the window. Indeed, this apartment was a giant step down from Ra's al Ghul's compound, but he had to admit that the company was much more appreciated.

"Alright, I'll talk to your mama and then we can get you settled in." Jason collapsed onto the sofa, ignoring the crunch of the springs as he sat, and tugged his laptop onto his lap. He proceeded to pull up a handy program that Oracle had given him that would allow him to connect with Talia directly without any pesky al Ghul tracking programs or viruses coming through.

Damian hovered uncertainly at Jason's elbow until Jason tugged him down to sit beside him instead. He wrapped an arm around the kid's shoulder while the program did its thing. Moments later, Talia's harried face popped up, relief flooding her features when she saw Damian safe and sound.

"My love, you frightened me!" she scolded, glaring at Damian, but her ire was dulled somewhat by the fear and relief showing openly through her eyes. Her hands flew to her hips and she frowned in confusion when she saw who was sitting with her son. "Why did you leave? And without letting anyone know! You know better, Damian. I thought something terrible had happened."

"Apologies, Mother," Damian muttered, looking sheepish now that he was faced with his mother. "I overheard you speaking with Mosh. You said I would be safer away from the compound, so I came to find Todd. He said I could stay if I needed to."

Talia looked uncertain, turning her gaze onto Jason instead. Her eyes softened when she saw him looking so unsure and guilty, himself. "It's good to see you, Jason," she said softly, her smile something he hadn't seen in so long. It warmed something cold and heavy in his chest, flooding his chest with light and air. God, but he had missed Talia al Ghul.

"You too, Talia," he admitted, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. Instead, he turned to Damian, staring him down as he spoke. "So, what do you want me to do with the baby?"

Talia laughed at Damian's indignant spluttering before taking a moment to think over their options. "I suppose you may remain with your brother, my sweet. I trust him to look after you. Is that alright with you, Jason?"

Jason blinked owlishly at Talia, surprised at her blatant admission of faith. "You do realize I'm only eighteen, right? You sure you trust me to be all alone with the kid? I mean, _Bruce_ doesn't even trust me not to suddenly go all crazy and start killing people again. I doubt he would leave a _dog_ alone with me, let alone a _kid_."

"Jason," Talia said, voice both exasperated and fierce, "I trust you to take wonderful care of Damian. You are a good man and I know you won't let anything happen to your brother. He's far safer with you than me at the moment." Then she scowled and crossed her arms, a move that made her look eerily like her son. "And if my Beloved cannot pull his head from his ass long enough to realize you are doing phenomenally considering all that you have been through, then he does not deserve you."

That just brought up one more thing for Jason to worry about. "Uh, yeah. About _Bruce_ ," he trailed off, peeking down at Damian out of the corner of his eye. "The moment he sees the kid, he'll figure it out." Damian sighed, snuggling closer to Jason's side and burying his face in Jason's jacket. Talia sighed as well, staring down at the floor, deep in thought.

"I would like to keep him in the dark as long as possible. I know Damian wishes to meet his father, to work with him, but I don't want my child to become just another dead Robin. He's lost _two_ now. I don't want to make it three."

"Well, at least there's a good track record with bringing them back to life?" Jason pointed out weakly, feeling the need to at least attempt to defend Bruce. Jason had been the first Robin to die, but Talia had gone against her father's wishes and brought him back with the use of a handy Lazarus Pit. Stephanie Brown, one of the Replacement's friends, had been Robin for a short while, too. Died after a plan went sideways and blew up in her face, but he wasn't really sure if her death counted or not, seeing as, from what he had heard, she had just been faking.

It didn't matter either way, in the end; Jason would be damned if he let Damian, his little brother in everything but blood, become just another dead Robin, no matter what the resurrection rate was. This kid deserved so much better than an early grave.

"Okay. I get that. So, keep the kid away from the big bad Bat. I can do that. Suppose that means no vigilantism for a while?"

"You can take him with you, Jason, but be _careful_. You know he can defend himself just fine, but keep an eye on him. And Damian, listen to your brother." She sighed as a commotion started up behind her. "I have to go," she said in exasperation. "I love you both, you ridiculous children. Be safe." She let her eyes lock with Jason's for a long moment, a silent conversation passing between them, a reassurance that he desperately needed from her no matter what he said.

Things like _I love you, never doubt that, thank you, I trust you, I really do love you, you silly, silly boy_.

Jason bit his lip but nodded back, message received even if he had trouble believing it. "See you soon, Tals?" he asked, instead of the hundreds of other things he wanted to say at that moment. This question was safe, it was something simple and easy and he could take comfort from the familiarity of it.

"Of course," she replied, smirking cockily before signing off. Jason sighed one more time before snapping the laptop closed and setting it on the table. He leaned back into the sofa and rubbed at his eyes, taking a deep breath before looking down at Damian and making his decision.

"Well, kiddo. Seems we're gonna be roomies for the foreseeable future." Damian hummed in agreement, eyes locked onto the closed laptop, fogged over with deep thought. Jason rolled his eyes and reached around the kid, throwing him into a headlock, playfully rustling his hair while Damian tugged and pushed against Jason's arm.

"You need to lighten up," Jason decided, releasing the boy and watching in amusement as he fluffed up like a disgruntled cat. "Come on, then. I'll show you your room. We're gonna have to go out and get you some normal clothes. Probably some other stuff, too, now that I think about it. Ugh, _shopping_."


	2. Chapter 2

Damian stared at the supermarket with a stink-face that would have made Bruce proud. Jason snuck a picture or two, just to be a little shit. That's what big brothers were supposed to do, right? Tease their younger siblings with the threat of embarrassing pictures and hilarious anecdotes that would leave them red in the face. At least, that's how he _assumed_ sibling relationships were supposed to be; he wouldn't really know. Dick had mostly ignored him, or taken his anger at Bruce out on him. Since Jason had miraculously returned from the dead, Dick had been trying to fix all the mistakes he had made when they were younger, but Jason had bigger problems to deal with than Dick's puppy eyes and guilty conscience.

Speaking of bigger problems, Damian was currently glaring at the sales associate in front of them; she was young and wide-eyed and practically shaking. Jason rolled his eyes at the kid and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, shaking him lightly to get him to let up.

"Stop scaring people, she just wants to help," Jason grumbled, before turning to the girl, his best bad-boy grin on his face. "Hi, miss. Sorry about that, he's kinda cranky today." Damian glared just a little harder at that and elbowed Jason in the kidney, but Jason had taken worse hits and easily ignored him. "We're just browsing. Don't need any help just yet, thanks." The girl visibly deflated with the giant sigh she released, looking relieved as she smiled and waved after them as they passed.

"Alright, we need to get you a decent wardrobe. It's a lot colder here than back home, so you're going to need layers." Jason led them back to the boy's section and pushed Damian into the maze of displays. "Go on and pick some stuff you like. I'll find some sweatshirts and jackets for you to pick from." With that, they separated and made their way systematically through the area. They met back up about twenty minutes later, Damian's arms practically overflowing with clothes, which wasn't really that impressive seeing how tiny the kid was. He had maybe three pairs of jeans and a handful of shirts. Jason relieved the kid of his choices and held up the heavier clothing he had found. Damian nodded, looking annoyed once more, and Jason sighed, grabbing all of the clothes up together into his arms before nodding towards another section of the store.

"Okay, pick out at least two pairs of shoes." Damian scowled but did as Jason asked, wandering through the displays until he found a few pairs he didn't completely despise. He brought them back in boxes to Jason, who added them to the pile growing in his arms.

"Ugh, maybe we should have grabbed a cart," he muttered to himself as he turned, looking around the rest of the store, wondering what else they should look at. The kid probably needed his own comforter and pillow, as well as things to pass the time. Kid couldn't practice his forms or play with his swords all hours of the day; even he would grow bored of that eventually.

"Alright, Damian," he said, turning around to tell his brother their next destination, only to find no tiny boy standing at his side like he had expected. He twisted around some more, wondering if he had just missed him, but there was no little baby bat anywhere near him. "Shit," he sighed, dropping Damian's clothes and shoes onto the nearest shelf. "Damian!" he shouted as loud as he felt comfortable in public. He still got a few annoyed looks from the other shoppers, but he ignored them. His heart was racing and his blood was pounding in his ears.

He had only had the kid for a few hours, and he had already lost him.

Some great big brother _he_ was.

"Damian!" he hissed, moving through the aisles with tactical focus. He couldn't have gotten far; Jason had only taken his eyes off of him for a few seconds to look around the store. "Damian!"

"Stop shouting, Todd," Damian's haughty voice berated him, and Jason whirled around. The kid was right there, his hands wrapped around the handle of a cart that was nearly too big for him to push. "You said we required a cart, so I brought one from the front of the store. Why are you shouting?"

"God, Damian," Jason sighed, shaking his head, his lips pinched together in a tight line of anxiety. "I thought I had _lost_ you. Please don't wander off like that, okay? Let me know if you're going to go somewhere else."

Damian scoffed, but his cheeks were tinted with a light pink as he nodded and looked away. Jason took over the control of the cart, grabbing Damian's hand and hooking it through the grates on the side and giving him a stern look that said, in no uncertain terms, _keep a hold or else_. Damian rolled his eyes but did as instructed, lacing his fingers through the grate and keeping pace with Jason's quick steps.

"Pick a blanket. It gets cold in the apartment at night," Jason said, before turning a bit further down the aisle to grab a pillow. Damian studied each blanket on display and finally decided on a solid dark grey one, thick and soft and large. Jason tossed it into the cart, along with the pillow he had found, and then led them towards the book aisle.

"Alright, I know for a fact you like to read, you little demon baby. I have a pretty good collection at the apartment, but I figure I should let you pick some out that sound good to you."

Damian raised an unimpressed eyebrow at that but once again did as Jason asked. He perused the books, his face screwing up in distaste the longer he looked around. He returned to Jason with an embarrassed look on his face, refusing to meet Jason's eyes as he came back empty handed.

Jason was confused. He knew the kid loved books. Was there just nothing that piqued his interest?

"Alright, kiddo. What's the problem?" he asked, pushing the cart out of the way so he could crouch down in front of his brother. "You _love_ books. I've never seen you pass up the opportunity to get a new one."

Damian glared at the floor, and Jason would have taken it as frustration if he couldn't see the pink flooding his cheeks and tinting the tips of his ears. The kid was embarrassed, but Jason couldn't think for the life of him, why?

"There is nothing here in Arabic," Damian finally ground out, looking mortified. Jason frowned, confused.

"Well, no. But you know how to read English. Don't you?" By the resulting glare he received, Jason realized that the answer was a resounding _no_. "Huh. Really? Okay, that's no problem. I can teach you, if you want. We can start off easy and work our way up to more difficult things."

Jason searched the books until he found some familiar titles from when he himself had been learning to read. The content may be a little too childish for Damian's tastes, but they had to start somewhere. Just for fun, Jason grabbed a few young adult books that they could read together at night.

"We'll start with these, and when we get home I'll try to find you some Arabic books online. Okay?" Damian eyed the colorful books that had been added to their things but sighed and nodded. Jason playfully ruffled his hair and then dragged him to their last destination.

"What is this?" Damian ground out, already feeling embarrassed enough by the books. He didn't need more childish things like _toys_ , too.

"You're gonna get bored awfully quickly if you don't find something to do. Just find something interesting, okay?" Jason wheedled, until Damian had to concede.

Damian growled under his breath but did as Jason said. Damian wandered further into the aisle, eying the brightly colored dolls, race cars, and stuffed animals with disdain. There was obviously nothing here that he would deign to touch. He hadn't played since he was a baby; he wouldn't even know how to do it anymore.

While Damian was fuming ahead of him, glaring and snarling at all of the toys, Jason was watching him carefully. He knew when his brother saw something interesting, and that was how Jason ended up with half a cart full of stuffed animals, a few card games, a stack of art supplies, a shimmery backpack, and even some matchbox cars. Damian scowled at Jason's choices but didn't say anything, and he didn't add anything, either.

"I think we're done for now. Come on." It was relatively painless to get through the line to pay, and then Jason was left to be the kid's pack mule all the way home. Damian could only carry three of the lighter bags, leaving Jason to carry the rest of the kid's shit.

They returned to the apartment just as the sun broke through Gotham's endless supply of clouds. Jason sighed at the state of his apartment in the cold light of day, and realized that he was going to have to fix the place up a bit if he was going to have a kid wandering around. Damian was capable and pretty smart, but he was still a little kid, and little kids got into _everything_. He was going to have to be careful with his weapons stockpile, as well as his bomb supplies. Should probably fix that gaping hole in the wall over the sofa, too.

Jason dropped the bags by the door and told Damian to go fix up his room how he liked. Damian dragged the heavy bags away and then closed the door with a soft click, leaving Jason to stare in dismay at his shit-hole of an apartment.

Well. No time like the present to get the hell to work, right?


	3. Chapter 3

It didn't take long for Damian to find Jason's Red Hood regalia. Granted, Jason hadn't really _hidden_ it, but he was kind of hoping to push this conversation off for at least a few days.

The kid wandered out of the bathroom, the red helmet held between his tiny hands. He raised a questioning look to his brother and just waited. Jason put down the spackle and scraper and sighed, letting himself flop down onto the sofa.

"What do you want to know, buddy?" he asked, already knowing where this conversation would lead, and not liking it at all. Had this been what Bruce had felt when Dick had found out that he was Batman? Worry and fear and just a little bit of selfishness?

"What do you call yourself?" Damian asked, his eyes bright and interested, and Jason marveled at how young the kid looked when he was excited about something. Even though he had been raised as an assassin, the kid had never lost that naïve quality about himself. He was still just a little boy, no matter what sort of training he had been through.

"I'm the Red Hood. I'm a bad guy that goes after other bad guys." He reached out and took the hood from Damian's hands and weighed it between his own.

"But you're not a bad man," Damian said, sounding confused and defiant. "Mother said so, and I know it to be true, as well." Jason looked up and saw his baby brother _pouting_ up at him, looking ready to defend Jason's honor to himself if necessary, and nearly cracked beneath the cuteness.

"You're adorable, kid," Jason said, reaching out to ruffle his brother's hair. Damian hopped away, glaring at Jason as he flattened his hair back down. "Honestly, I don't think I can really explain myself, here. I wanted to get back at Bruce because I was mad at him, so I became a sort of anti-hero that took out the bad guys Batman wouldn't even bother with. I took over the entire drug trade in Gotham, got them to stay away from schools, got them to stop selling to kids. Kept the crime bosses in line. Made this city a lot safer. But Bruce didn't see it that way." He sighed, rubbing his temples in agitation. He hated talking about this stuff, but Damian _needed_ to know. So he could make his own decisions, if nothing else. "I don't really do that a lot anymore. I'm trying to 'mend my relationships' with the Bats. And that means no killing."

Damian was still a few feet away from Jason, but he closed the distance easily to carefully wrap his arms around Jason's neck, squeezing tight. "Thanks, kid. Now go on and ask what I know you want to."

Damian pulled away, a chagrined look on his face as he turned hopeful eyes onto Jason. "Would the Red Hood be interested in a partnership, by chance?"

Jason leaned back and let out a dark chuckle, hiding his face behind his hands. "I suppose I could use one for a while. Your mama did say it was okay, as long as I kept you safe."

"Then it's decided," Damian stated with finality, a sharp smirk tugging at his lips.

"What's your name gonna be, kiddo?" Jason asked in amusement, already resigning himself to at least one heart attack a night dealing with this boy on patrol.

Damian gave it a lot of thought before he smiled and said, "Redbird."

And that was that.

Jason had learned a lot about costume creation from Alfred, who usually got stuck doing the brunt of the work whenever one of them wanted a new suit design. Jason had learned how to sew with a machine at the elderly butler's elbow, learned what materials were the best protection, and how to take scraps of nothing and transform them into power, a _symbol_.

And now, Jason was passing on this knowledge to his little brother. Jason had borrowed a rickety old sewing machine from the ancient, hunched over lady next door and was currently in the process of attaching Kevlar to spandex while Damian dictated his design choices.

Jason had to admit that the end product was pretty high-quality; Alfred would be damn proud. He bribed the guy that always repaired his helmet into rush-manufacturing a similar one for the kid's uniform. Like hell was he letting Damian out to kick bad guy butt without some sort of head protection.

So that night, instead of bundling the kid into bed like a normal big brother, Jason was helping Damian slip into his new spandex and Kevlar-lined bodysuit before sliding the shiny new helmet onto his head, as well. The kid looked up at Jason with a cocky smirk as Jason reached around his shoulders and connected the red and black cape. It was tradition in the family, whether Jason believed himself a part of it or not, that the young kids always wore a cape. It kept the Gotham chill from reaching them while they patrolled, and it helped them blend in when the colors weren't stupidly garish (thanks a ton, _Dick_ ). He had to admit his own yellow cape had been an eyesore and a target, but he did like the Replacement's red one that looked just like wings. The fact that capes blew around in the breeze, making the wearer look that much cooler, was an added bonus in Jason's book.

"Well, Redbird. What do you think?" Jason turned Damian until he was facing the full-length mirror in the bathroom, his hands on his brother's shoulders, and a proud look on his face as he waited for Damian's verdict.

It was hard to read his face through the helmet, but Jason saw his tiny, shy smile; it was the smile that Damian reserved for his most emotional moments. Jason couldn't help but squeeze Damian's shoulders with quiet pride.

"It is," Damian started, pausing for a moment to puff his chest out, " _impressive_ , Todd. I thank you. The villains of Gotham shall fear me at first sight."

Jason had to hold back a snort of laughter at that; the kid did look fierce, but he also barely reached Jason's waist. He looked like the personification of an angry puppy, biting at people's heels and yipping in annoyance.

"Well, what do you say we take the suit out for a test run, huh?" Jason was already moving through the apartment to slip into his own clothes. Damian was waiting in the doorway for him when he slipped out of the bedroom, bouncing on his feet, a look of anticipation shining through on the slight stretch of his face left uncovered.

Their first night as a team went well enough. It was another quiet night, only a few break ins and muggings to stop. Jason had to reel back Damian's assassin glee a couple times, but all in all, the boy had done admirably, considering his training had stressed the importance of leaving no survivors behind.

They returned to the apartment at about three in the morning, both of them collapsing onto the sofa in a mess of exhausted limbs. Damian slid the helmet from his head and sighed at the fresh air. Jason smiled, his own helmet at his feet, and reached across the sofa to bring Damian into his side for a tight squeeze. "You did great for your first night out, buddy. I'm proud of you. And I'm glad you actually listened to me when I said you needed to back off. It's important that we understand each other, yeah?"

Damian nodded sleepily into Jason's chest and fisted a hand into his older brother's jacket. The smell of Gotham had hit him like a brick to the face the first night he had arrived, adding to his fear and uncertainty, but now he was starting to associate the smell of smoke and factory fumes with the safety and acceptance his brother had provided him with.

"It's time for bed, kiddo." Damian agreed wholeheartedly, but also thought that the sofa was an adequate place to fall asleep, especially because he wouldn't have to move. When Damian didn't respond, Jason sighed and stood up, scooping the kid into his arms with less bodily harm than he had anticipated.

" _Todd_ ," the kid complained, but the venom in his voice was less frightening when Damian was glaring at him through hazy, half-lidded eyes.

"Relax, I'm just taking you to your room." True to his word, Jason deposited Damian onto his bed, quickly helping him peel out of his body suit and into some soft pajamas instead. Damian was already half-asleep as Jason manipulated his limbs beneath the blanket, and easily closed his eyes once he was situated comfortably.

"Goodnight, buddy." He leaned down, fluffing the kid's hair off of his forehead and felt a pang of nostalgia as he watched Damian sigh and burrow further beneath the blanket, looking so young in that moment that it was almost painful.

Not for the first time, Jason wondered if he was the right person to be taking care of this kid. He wasn't the greatest example of glowing mental health or safe coping skills. He took his anger and pain out on scumbags and criminals by repeatedly punching them in the face or shooting their kneecaps out; if that didn't scream _mental_ _instability_ , he wasn't sure what did. He just prayed that he wouldn't mess the kid up too much until his mother could take him back.

Jason watched Damian for a few more minutes, making sure he was really asleep before slipping back out into the living room. There were still so many things he needed to take care of to make sure Damian was safe with him, and not a lot of time left to do it before the boy woke up. Damian had always been an early riser, something Jason had despised when he had lived at the compound with the al Ghul's. Hopefully he wouldn't be getting the same wake-up call that he had back then; namely, Damian barreling into his room and pouncing on Jason to wake him up. That was one thing that Jason had not missed in his years back in Gotham; sleep was a glorious thing and he adored his bed above most other things.

With a full-body sigh, Jason got to work. He only had a few hours before Damian was up again, bouncing at his heels and watching his every move. Might as well make the most of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Damian had been living with Jason for four long weeks, now, a whole _month_ ; his partner in crime at night and a quiet presence at his side during the day. Having the kid following him around in the daylight hours was actually helping him greatly. He definitely wasn't having as many anxiety attacks and had limited his liquor intake to make way for the brat.

But a month was a _really_ _long time_.

Some small part of him had been expecting Talia to show up by the end of the first week, give him a brisk thank you and a kiss on the cheek before sweeping Damian up and disappearing from his life for another however-long.

But he was keeping track almost religiously and he knew for a fact that it had been exactly four weeks, two days, and about twelve hours since Damian had come to him in that gross back alley.

Not that he was complaining; the kid was a downright breath of fresh air to Jason's bloodstained life. If nothing else, the kid's presence had Jason curtailing his 'kill first ask questions never' mindset as he was dead set against killing anyone in front of his baby brother. Sure, Jason knew that was stupid and the boy had seen plenty of death in his short life, but that was no reason for Jason to add to his no doubt _ocean_ full of trauma.

Plus, the new outlook had the added benefit of limiting the Bat Family's lectures on killing and being a hero and shit to almost none at all.

Speaking of the Bat Fam, Jason had to admit that they were all pretty observant people, and as such, had no doubt noticed his little red-and-black shadow by now.

It was pretty much a give-in that the Red Hood and Redbird were better at disappearing before the others could catch up, though.

They had a system, and it was working fairly well so far; swoop in, fight the bad guys, leave them for the police or the Family to find (whoever got there first, it was a crap shoot, really), and swoop back out almost as fast.

Damian found the whole routine quite entertaining, because of course he did; he was a ten year old that consistently outmaneuvered the leading vigilante family in Gotham. They outran Nightwing, Red Robin, and on a few harrowing encounters _Batman himself_ , while dodging snide and pointed comments from Batgirl and Oracle over the coms. They hadn't come more than a few rooftops close to Batman, and Jason was dreading the night he finally deigned to drop down in front of them.

That lecture was going to be the frickin' _worst_.

And it didn't help that Jason wasn't so sure he would be able to hide Damian from the man once they finally met. Cue the anxiety over that filling him to the brim every night they left the apartment, wondering if tonight was going to be _The Night_.

Jason could swear that someone really frickin' hated him Up There, because things could just never, ever go in his favor. At least, not for long. In a surprise twist of fate or something they didn't get cornered during _patrol_ , but on the _street_ in _broad daylight_.

They were making their way back to the apartment from the corner store, because somehow they had run out of pretty much everything edible in the apartment and Jason was left wondering if Damian was starting to get the appetite of a teenager early or something. God help him if he was starting puberty already.

Jason held a cloth bag of groceries in one hand and had one of Damian's hands held in his other. Damian still got lost in the city easily enough, though he would never admit it. Jason was definitely not taking any chances with losing the kid anywhere near Crime Alley and so had invoked his rule making rights as a big brother and decreed that Damian was to either stay within arm's reach or hold onto Jason's hand while they were out in public. Damian had kicked up a fuss at that, but Jason had looked him dead in the eye and threatened a backpack leash as an alternative. That, at least, had made the kid shut up.

But now they were stuck at an intersection, waiting for the light to change, when Jason looked up and met eyes with Dick Grayson who was beaming at him from the other side of the road.

Jason cursed his luck and tried to head in the other direction. They could go down another block and still make it back to the apartment before the milk went bad, as well as bypass Dick's incessant chatter and puppy dog eyes and his constant 'why don't you drop by the Manor' comments, like he thought Jason was still welcome there or something and was just being stubborn.

Jason knew his _place_ , and he knew where he was _welcome_ , and neither of those things were at the Manor.

Damian didn't even seem to realize why Jason was trying to bodily shove him in the opposite direction and instead just went with the flow of his brother's body, only glancing up to give Jason a quizzical little eyebrow raise when they were going at a good pace down the opposite side of the sidewalk. Jason grit his teeth and shook his head, and Damian dropped the issue, following Jason in silence instead.

If nothing else, the partnership between Red Hood and Redbird had at least improved their ability to read each other easily.

"Jason!" they heard behind them, but Jason just hunched his shoulders and kept moving. Damian tried to peek behind them around Jason's arm, but Jason was a big man and took up most of Damian's line of sight as a consequence.

Besides, Jason was an avid subscriber of the 'if I can't see it, it doesn't exist' line of thinking, and it had served him fairly well in his life, for the most part. It was going to work in this situation if they could outrun Dick; it also worked really well on moldy food in the fridge, because if he ignored it long enough, Damian got annoyed at the smell and threw it out and Jason didn't even have to acknowledge it _once_.

"Jason, please! Stop!" Dick kept shouting, and now he was just making a _scene_. Jason fumed at that, trying to keep his head down and ignore all of the stares they were gathering. It seemed that his head-in-the-sand routine wasn't going to fly this time, though, because Dick's jog was faster than Jason's powerwalk.

Dick followed them to the next crosswalk, practically bouncing in place as he drew even with them, cutting off their escape route with an easy grin and raised hands. Jason skidded to a stop and glared, Damian nearly running into his side at the sudden halt. Jason knew he had a scary face when he wanted to look menacing. So he _also_ knew exactly what his face was doing in that moment, and not _one feature_ was even _remotely_ encouraging Dick to continue down this line of conversation.

But Dick, ever the idiot, had never really worked on improving his self-preservation instincts.

Must have been the carnie in him.

"Jay! It's so good to see you!" Dick gushed, with a smile that actually looked genuine for some reason Jason couldn't understand. He stared at Dick in confusion and suspicion; Dick had been actively avoiding him in public for the last two years, _at least_. He had no clue what the sudden change of tune was about. Right now, Dick actually looked pleased to have run into the brother he couldn't really stand and had practically disowned, just like the rest of the Family had, since his return to Gotham.

And besides, no one ever looked _that_ happy to see Jason.

It was just downright _shady_.

 _He must want something_.

And then Dick did the most Dick-thing possible and threw himself at Jason, attempting to wrap his arms around Jason's considerably larger bulk and failing miserably. Dick didn't seem to mind the huge size difference, instead deciding to just give him the tightest hug he could to encompass the most surface area possible.

The end result was a flailing mess that left something to be desired.

When Jason didn't even shift to return the physical affection that Dick always handed out like candy, Dick's smile finally faltered for once. Jason felt a spike of vindication hit his chest as he saw the light leech from Dick's face, and then instantly felt like a jackass for even thinking that. Dick's _vibrancy_ , his _light_ , his _joy_ was one of the most defining parts of his older brother. Without it, Jason wasn't sure what the Family would do, besides crumble and fall apart beneath all of the darkness and pain and fear they dealt with on a regular basis.

Dick pulled away from Jason slowly, noticing the grimace on his face and the stiff set to his shoulders. He bit his lip, shifting awkwardly on the sidewalk before shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, looking all sad and forlorn and like someone had just kicked his frickin' puppy dog.

And _God_ , but did Jason feel like a grade A jerk.

"I'm guessing you don't feel the same way, Jaybird?" Dick asked, voice small and cracked and everything else Dick should never be. He sounded like he knew the answer to his question and was just waiting for Jason to confirm it for him.

Jason sighed and shifted the groceries until the bag was sitting on the ground next to him; he was going to need at least one hand for this conversation, and sadly, he could see where it was heading fast. Even when they were at each other's throats, Jason never could deny Dick anything when he used The Face™ on him.

But, he was trying to hold his ground. _Dick_ was the one that had been avoiding _him_. And if Jason had been avoiding him, too, well that was what he _got_ for avoiding him first! Jason was _pissed_ , dammit. The puppy dog eyes and the sad face would not work on him this time.

"Dammit, Dick," Jason sighed, rolling his eyes along with his shoulders in one big movement, turning to glare across the street so he wouldn't have to look at Dick's stupid, sad, manipulative face.

Dick sighed, too, but he seemed just a tad bit brighter than before. He leaned back on his heels, staring at the ground as he visibly stumbled over his thoughts. Dick was at a loss for words. Jason guessed that was a first for the Big Bird and he would need a bit of time to figure out what to do about it.

And then Dick's wandering eyes skittered from the sidewalk to Jason's little shadow. His eyes practically grew three sizes larger before he glanced up at Jason again, his smile back again as it took up most of the space on his face.

"Oh, don't even _start_ , asshole," Jason threatened, tightening his grip on Damian's hand, tugging him just a little closer into the protective cover of his shadow.

It didn't stop Dick from ogling, though. His lips quivered, like he wasn't sure if he really wanted to grin, frown, or cry. He started chuckling then, deep and bright, until that just didn't do it anymore and he started cackling like an idiot right there in public. People were still staring, though Bruce Wayne's oldest ward having an apparent mental breakdown on the bad side of town wasn't actually far from the norm in Gotham.

Really, weirder things had definitely happened.

"Oh. My. _God_. Jason. _Jason_ , you have a _kid_. You got yourself a little boy. Oh, God. You're just like _Bruce_ , aren't you? You are, aren't you! This is _amazing_! And look at him, he looks just like the rest of us! Following in the old man's footsteps, for real."

While Dick was wiping away proud tears of joy from his eyes, Jason was left fuming. He didn't see what was so frickin' funny about this situation, and he wasn't sure if he should be offended or not by the jerk's reaction. Besides, what did Dick know? Jason was _damn good_ with kids, just as long as he was able to curse and blow things up and shoot bad guys in front of them. He was amazing with Roy Harper's little girl, Lian, ask anyone.

"I don't know whether I should feel offended and punch you in the face, or feel flattered and punch you in the face. Either way," he trailed off ominously, slowly drawing back his arm to take aim at Dick's stupid perfect face.

Dick dodged away easily, still giggling but trying to stifle it a bit. "I'm sorry, Jason. _Really_." And he did sound sincere, at least, once he had calmed down a little more. Jason lowered his arm, eyeing Dick suspiciously; Dick's blue eyes were warm and kind, sparkling with exhilaration and mirth, pretty much the total opposite of what Jason had been expecting to see there. He didn't look condescending or incredulous; it threw Jason off a little, actually.

"I'm glad. _Really_. I'm glad you found a worthy partner," Dick said seriously, his smile still stretched across his face, but it was smaller now, something just between the three of them and not something to be shared with the world.

Jason had always secretly liked that smile the best.

Dick turned his attention down to the kid still clutching Jason's other hand. Damian was glaring just like Jason had been, hard and analyzing and suspicious. "My name's Dick, I'm Jason's older brother. It's nice to finally meet you. I've seen your work at night. It's very impressive." When Damian didn't respond, even to preen beneath the praise, Jason sighed and nudged the kid with his hip, squeezing his hand lightly to let him know it was okay to talk to Dick. Dick saw the whole exchange and knelt down so he was at eye level with Damian, giving him his most winning smile. "And who might you be, little guy?"

"Someone fully capable of kicking that stupid smirk right off your face," Damian growled, his eyes dark and dangerous as he continued to glare at Dick. He moved so he was hidden more behind Jason than before and scowled a little harder.

Damian didn't seem to realize that when he did that, it made him look so much younger, and also more like a drowned little kitten disgruntled with the world.

Eh, _Jason_ wasn't going to be the one to tell him.

Jason just squeezed Damian's fingers in response, looking down at his baby brother to give him a disappointed brow raise. Damian's shoulders slumped in resignation but his hostility remained, an almost tangible cloud surrounding him. "This here is Damian. He wasn't safe at home, so I offered his mama my place to hide him out until the coast was clear. She'll take care of the problem at home and let me know when it's safe to bring him back." He shrugged away the explanation like it wasn't a big deal. With the way Dick was staring at him in surprise, Jason realized that Dick had probably read far more into that short explanation than Jason had intended.

"Wow," Dick breathed out, looking a little far-away before shaking himself like a wet dog, turning back to smile softly down at Damian. "Well, it's super nice to meet you, Damian! You know, if you ever want to hear some embarrassing stories about Jason when he was little, I can _totally_ hook you up." He gave Damian a furtive little wink, smirking exaggeratedly, and only got mild apathetic interest in return.

"Yeah, well. As fun as that would be, we need to get our groceries back to the apartment before they spoil. I did not just pay _good money_ for this food if I don't even get to _eat it_ , Dickface."

Dick rolled his eyes but easily stepped out of their way. Jason reached down to grab the bag of groceries but paused, half crouched, and looked up at Dick. He was looking hopeful and Jason sighed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes but he nodded anyway, already resigned to his fate.

Dick practically jumped up to him at the nod, wrapping his arms much more carefully around Jason's bulk and giving him a tight, quick squeeze before pulling away, knowing that his welcome would be short. Jason patted him on the back twice before Dick skittered back; he reached out to pat Damian on the head too and had to backpedal when Damian tried to lash out and attack his hand in retaliation. Dick just burst out laughing, looking so much more alive than he had earlier.

As Jason picked up his groceries and started heading across the street, Dick called out, quieter than before. "I meant what I said earlier, Jace; it was really good to see you."

Jason glanced at Dick over his shoulder, still moving away but now his attention was divided. Damian was already preoccupied with finding his way back to the apartment from a different street. Jason glanced up and met Dick's gaze, swallowed hard, and then gave him a quick nod, his eyes skittering back to the road just as they hit the other side of the street.

Dick disappeared seconds later and Jason led them back to the apartment, his heart and head both feeling oddly heavy as he tried to process that whole interaction. It sure had included far less yelling and/or bloodshed than he was expecting, that was for sure.

It worried him, though; Dick may act obtuse, but he could solve cases on his own without a problem. There was _no way_ that Dick hadn't taken one look at Damian and put two and two together. Damian was practically a carbon copy of the old man at that age, if with a different complexion and eye color. But Dick hadn't said a thing, hadn't even given Jason a knowing look, just taken the kid in as another person to love unconditionally. He hadn't even reacted negatively when Damian had been prickly or when he had tried to attack him.

Was he actually going to let Jason make his own judgement about the situation? Well, wouldn't that be a first for the record books.

It was really odd, though, knowing that Dick might have his back in this situation. He hadn't had backup in so long that it was almost a foreign concept. He was so used to doing things alone, especially since his return to Gotham, when the Family had found out who the Red Hood was and had turned up their noses at his methods. But even he had to admit, things had been getting better.

He had actually had a civil conversation with the Replacement a few weeks ago over the coms, making the ever-serious teen break out into age-appropriate giggles.

How Nightwing acted on patrol would seal the deal, though; if Batman swooped down within the first ten minutes, demanding answers, Jason would know who to kick in the balls the next time he saw him.

But it was nice to know there would be no reason for ball-kicking, at least not Nightwing's, when nothing odd happened during patrol that night, or the night after, or even the night after that. It was almost comforting when he could clearly hear Nightwing drawing the other Bats away from their hiding spots whenever they ever got a little too close. It was a relief he hadn't realized he was hoping for when he realized it was actually okay to trust his big brother to watch his and Damian's backs, just like he had always wished he would have been able to way back in the day.

Damian didn't seem to notice a difference, but that wasn't really a big surprise. The kid could rival Dick, Bruce, and Tim in bloody singlemindedness when he got in the zone. Whatever he was doing, whether it was drawing or kicking bad guy butt, the task before him always took precedence over anything else.

Which was also why Jason was so frickin' protective of the kid when they were out at night. If you didn't have all your senses cranked up to 11, if you didn't think of every possibility and plan ahead, if you didn't watch your own back on the streets, well then you would probably turn around just to find a knife sticking out of it at one point or another.

And Jason wasn't stupid. He knew that Damian would have to learn the hard facts of life eventually, but he would be _damned_ if the kid had to learn them anytime soon.

He could maybe see why Bruce had been so paranoid when Jason was a kid. If Bruce had felt even a _fraction_ of the responsibility Jason felt for Damian, then he could sort of get where the bossman had been coming from.

It almost made Jason's death and Bruce's reaction to it make a little more sense.

 _Almost_.

Jason was still _damned_ pissed about it all, but it was slowly getting just a bit better. The betrayal he had felt upon his return to Gotham had been tempered by time and increasing sanity the further he got away from the Pit's influence. He thought maybe he could almost put himself in Bruce's shoes, if he absolutely had to, especially now that he had Damian.

Didn't mean he wasn't still pissed off.

Just not as bad.

And that was progress, at least.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I got it done on time! And actually, this chapter was going to be way longer, with like two or three more scenes, but I was already at 13 pages so I figured I would just end where I did, and save the rest for next week. A lot is going on here and some of it probably isn't canon, but just go with it. It's like a hodgepodge of all the fics I've read and what I've seen of the comics. So, I hope you enjoy, and just try not to think about it too hard… :)**

In the end, the Lazarus Pit had been Talia's desperate solution to a desperate situation.

A quick fix, she had admitted to him later on, that could heal his body so she could focus on healing his mind. She had known the consequences, of course she had. They were extensive and horrible, both for himself and her. Jason had still been mostly catatonic, wandering the halls of the Compound like a zombie from some crappy B-movie. The Pit had had other side effects, too, most notably Pit Madness. It wasn't unheard of, and was actually quite common among the inhabitants of the Compound.

Sometimes, Jason wondered if the consequences he had to face every day had been nothing compared to what Talia had had to face, once her father had found out the truth.

The wrath of Ra's al Ghul was not something one overcame easily or painlessly.

In the years following her decision to help Jason despite her father's orders, Jason had only dealt with the Pit Madness three or four times. He had always been alone, though, locked away from the world.

Not to keep himself safe from the world, of course, but to keep the world safe from him.

It had been building for a few days now. Green fire had slowly built up behind his eyelids until it was all he could see. His temper flared at the tiniest inconveniences. He was frightened of doing something that he couldn't come back from.

Ignoring the signs had never worked in the past, and it definitely wasn't working now. It had built up to the breaking point, though, and he could no longer deny that it was rushing at him fast.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror and shuddered in sick realization. His eyes were glowing a bright, overpowering green and there was no turning back.

Admitting it was scary and just a little fitting, as he saw that he looked more than just a little half-crazed.

He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, already feeling the rage that he always kept tamped down in his chest starting to bubble to the surface, and panicked silently as he stared at his reflection. The last time the Pit Madness had hit, he had been alone, far away from any vulnerable, defenseless people.

But now Damian was here, within arms' reach, just on the other side of that bathroom door. He didn't know what to do, he hadn't planned ahead for this, and he was kicking himself for that little oversight. Panic was clawing at his throat as he tried desperately to bring a breath into his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and felt the sink creak ominously beneath his tight grip.

Why did the aftershocks of the Pit always hit him at the worst possible times? Why did it have to leave him feeling sick to his stomach, itching to kill someone ( _anyone_ ), and powerless to stop it?

"Jason?" he heard through the door, and he snapped his head to the side, eyes still squeezed shut. Damn, but had that door always been that thin and flimsy? If he kicked it just right, it would fly off the hinges, and he could have Damian in his hands within seconds, catch him off guard, wrap his hands around his…

No.

 _No_.

And now the kid sounded just as scared as Jason was feeling. His voice was uncharacteristically shaky and soft when he asked, "Brother? Are you alright?"

A long, loud whining noise, like a dog's high pitched whimper after a swift kick to the ribs, was his only answer. Jason snarled out loud, growling low in his throat, hating that sound until he realized that it had been coming from his own chest, his own throat, his own mouth. He clamped his teeth down, collapsing to the floor in an inelegant heap, back against the sink as he buried his flushed face in his knees.

Was this Hell?

This had to be Hell.

It was so damn hard to think. There was a constant mantra of _I need to kill/But Damian's right there/I have a knife in my boot/But what about Damian?_ and it circled round and round in his mind, driving him insane. He knocked his head back hard against the sink, trying to get a coherent thought through the haze in his mind.

There was only one thing he could think of with the constant fog and buzz in his head.

"Call Dick!" Jason snarled through gritted teeth, hating that he had to drag Dick into this but he was having enough trouble remembering how to breathe properly, let alone come up with any kind of better plan.

He whined deep in his throat as another wave of green fire pulsed behind his eyelids. He fisted his fingers through his shaggy hair, tugging against the roots just to have something else to focus on.

Another bitter, painful scream tore out of his throat and he tried to muffle it with his knees, pressing his face harder into his rough denim jeans. There was no way to control it; the scream just kept going and going and _going_. He must have lost some time after that because the next thing he saw was Dick kneeling beside him, one hand on Jason's shoulder and the other on his forehead, pushing his head back slowly and gently. Damian was hovering uncertainly behind Dick, dried tears streaked down his face, his hands fiddling nervously with the hem of his t-shirt.

"Hey there, Jaybird," Dick said softly, running a cool washcloth over Jason's fevered brow. Jason could have kissed him, it felt so good. "You don't look so good, Little Wing."

Jason snorted at the understatement and couldn't bring himself to disagree; if he looked half as bad as he felt, he had to look like a damn hot mess. "This has happened before," he admitted breathlessly, shifting a bit so the washcloth covered more of his face, blocking out some of the light from the living room while he was at it. "It's a side effect of the Pit. It happens," he grumbled, shrugging nonchalantly while simultaneously wincing in pain. "Not with Damian, though. Never with Damian here." He shoved the cloth out of his face then, grimacing, eyeing Dick harshly. "I need you to watch the kid tonight. It'll pass by tomorrow, but he can't be here. I'll hurt him."

Dick's eyes were full of pity and sadness and Jason bristled, but he would honestly deal with a million pitying stares if it kept Damian safe and sound. That vow didn't stop him from glaring harshly at his older brother's ridiculous sentimentality, though. "Stop giving me Sad Eyes and get Damian out of here, asshole."

"Do I get no say in any of this?" Damian complained, full of fear and righteous indignation. "I've seen what the Pit does to people, Jason. I've seen what Mother and Grandfather and the others have gone through. I could help!" He stomped his foot, his hands fisted at his side, and radiated worry.

"Damian," Jason sighed, feeling so exhausted and old and just plain _done_. It was adorable that Damian wanted to help so bad, though, and Jason did appreciate the thought. "There's no helping this and you know it. I just have to wait it out. There's a panic room in the closet that I can hole up in until it passes. But I can't focus on dealing with this if I'm busy worrying about whether or not you're safe."

The kid faltered at that, looking uncertain and so very, very young. His eyes shimmered with uncertainty and unshed tears as he tried one more time. "You don't have to do this alone, though. Grayson and I could stay. We could help!"

Jason sighed again and hid his face behind his knees. "I get real violent, kiddo. It's better if I wait it out by myself." He turned just a bit, just enough to side-eye Dick and Damian through his hair. "Baby, please. I need you to go with Dickie, be a good boy, and I'll see you in the morning. It'll be brotherly bonding time, or something." Damian looked dangerously close to breaking down and Jason could see that this wasn't going to end well. He knew the kid wanted to argue, to thrash around and downright refuse and then stick himself right to the floor so he couldn't be moved.

But then Dick finally did his big brotherly duty and stepped in, wrapping an arm around Damian's shoulders and giving him a tight squeeze. The effect was immediate; Damian deflated in seconds, his fight dissipating beneath the touch, huddled up against Dick's side like the scared little boy he was. In that moment, he looked far younger than he truly was, all wide eyes and fear drenched face. He nodded solemnly from within Dick's shadow, looking determined. "Fine. We shall help you to the panic room before we leave, though."

And Jason figured that was the least he could give his baby brother. He figured he would probably have a difficult enough time of crawling across the room, let alone trying to walk it. He let Dick help him to feet and wrap an arm around his shoulders while Jason surreptitiously leaned most of his weight on his Dick, knowing he would be more than capable of holding him up. Hopefully, Damian would remain none the wiser, believing Dick was just trying to be overly-helpful.

They reached the hall closet soon enough and Jason leaned back in Dick's arms, kicking the false backing out of the way to reveal a sleek metal door with a fancy electric lock. Jason punched in the code with a lead-heavy arm, just slow enough for Dick to follow the pattern so he could unlock the door in the morning.

Jason was a paranoid bastard at the best of times and his panic room reinforced that sentiment. The walls were soundproofed, five-foot thick metal slabs; there was enough food and water inside for at least a month, without rationing; and there was a semi-comfortable mattress, pillows, and blankets as well as a toilet and sink partitioned off to the side. Jason wouldn't want to _live_ there, but it was a good back up back up plan.

Without a second thought, Jason collapsed onto the mattress and groaned a little too loudly as the fierce pounding in his head kicked up another notch. "We'll be back in the morning, Jace," Dick said softly, and Jason could just picture the worry on his brother's stupid face. "Dami, do you want to say goodbye?"

There was a long, drawn out silence, and then Jason felt the mattress dip at his side. Jason tensed up at the shift, groaned again, and then in a rush of movement Jason twisted on the bed, dragging Damian close to his chest. He squeezed his brother tight and breathed him in, burying his face in the kid's hair, and felt his heart creak sadly when he found Damian clinging back.

"You be a good boy for Dickie, okay? He hasn't had to deal with annoying baby brothers in a while, so try and go easy on him. I'll still be here in the morning," he joked, rustling Damian's spiky hair. "Remember, this is just for one night." He pressed a harsh kiss that was more teeth than lips to Damian's forehead and then gave him one more squeeze before he shoved him away, turning to burrow back into his bedding. "Have fun tonight, boys," Jason growled through his teeth, curling into himself, trying to ride out the wave of pain and fire and drown out the intense _kill kiLL KILL_ thoughts bouncing around in his skull. It felt like what he imagined coming down from a high must, only about a million times worse.

"We'll see you in the morning, Jason. Be careful, alright?" Even Dick, ever-cheerful Dick, always glass-half-full, never glass-half-empty Dick Grayson sounded unsure with his parting comments. Jason cracked one eye open and watched their backs as the door slid shut behind them.

He let out a shaky sigh of relief, took one more deep breath, and then let himself _go_.

The sudden howl of rage and pain that followed them out of the panic room nearly had Dick turning back around, itching to help more than this. A tiny part of him was glad, though, that they weren't there to witness Jason's breakdown. He was incredibly thankful that Jason had held on long enough to have Damian call him. He was just so damn proud of his little brother, actually reaching out for help when he knew he couldn't deal with this on his own.

Damian was staring wide eyed and vacant at the metal door, jumping a bit when it shook and rattled with the sound of Jason's barely audible screams of rage. That was some _damn_ thick metal, and Dick was more than a little impressed. "Damian," he finally said, trying to drag the kid away from their brother's suffering, even if just for a moment, "go pack an overnight bag, okay? He'll be just fine in the morning." Damian's gaze was locked on the metal door for another loaded moment before he jerked his eyes away, bit his lip, and headed out of the room in silence.

Dick wasn't sure if he was following his instructions or not, seeing as he had never been in this particular safe house before, and couldn't be sure of the layout. He decided to give the kid a few minutes and then go check on him, if need be. To kill some time and calm his own nerves, Dick let his gaze and his feet wander around the living room and adjoining kitchen, trying to see if he could identify the bits that were definitely Jason, and the bits that just might be Damian.

There were a few random children's books littered around the room, resting on the table, on the windowsill, peeking out from beneath the couch; there were just as many thicker, classical books scattered about, in similar spots; there were a few toys on the floor in the corner; and then there was a sketchpad and a few colored pencils resting on the floor next to the window.

Dick thought that the place was surprisingly clean and put-together, seeing as a little kid lived here, too.

Damian appeared at his side a few moments later, a shiny black backpack slung over his shoulder and a blank look on his face. He stared up at Dick, the hint of confusion in his dark eyes as he stared him down. It was a little unnerving and Dick sighed, reaching up to ruffle his own hair in agitation.

"Let's head on out then, Damian," he said, eyes skittering around the apartment like he might never see it again. He jumped in surprise when he felt a tiny little hand worm its way into his own; the kid hadn't struck him as the demonstrative type, and really, Damian had only met him the once.

Dick glanced down, feeling horrible for drawing the awkward moment out, but he had to see what Damian's face was doing. The poor kid was staring vacantly ahead, obviously trying to ignore Jason's rage-filled shouts, with his jaw clenched so tight it looked downright painful.

The kid looked miserable and Dick felt horrible.

He was just a _kid_.

He squeezed Damian's hand in return, trying to give him any little bit of comfort that he could, and then led them out of the apartment, pausing just long enough to lock the door behind them. He could do much else to help Jason, but he could make sure no one would be stupid enough to break into his apartment while he was vulnerable.

They stayed silent and tense as they walked from the Narrows to Wayne Tower. Dick was staying in the penthouse above the Tower, craving his own space while visiting Gotham. Bruce was great and all, but he was better in short, small bursts of contact rather than prolonged time together.

Besides, Dick spent most of his time in Bludhaven these days. With the newest addition to the family, though, he found himself frequenting Gotham more often than he had originally planned. And having a safe, non-Bruce affiliated place to possibly entertain the littlest vigilante in Gotham had definitely swayed his living situation decision, as well.

The sun was getting lower and lower in the sky the longer they walked, and Dick was understandably lost in his own thoughts when he felt Damian come to a stop outside of a shady-looking alley, tugging on Dick's hand until he stopped, too. Now that he was paying attention, Dick could hear an odd rustling sound, and when he glanced down, he saw that Damian's eyes had lost that vacant look, replaced with a hypervigilance that Dick was more used to seeing on Bruce's face. It was a little disconcerting to see the same look on someone else.

Damian dropped Dick's hand and moved further into the alley without a backwards glance. He kicked garbage and boxes out of the way as he shuffled through the mess, obviously searching for the source of the sounds. He disappeared beneath the piles of debris for a few moments and then popped back up, hair disheveled and sticking up in spiky tufts as he cradled something tiny and adorable and fluffy in his arms.

The little black kitten mewled up at Damian pathetically, mouth wide open and eyes scrunched up unhappily. Damian stood there with garbage and mud at his feet, staring down at the poor little kitten, and for a second Dick remembered that _Talia and the League of Assassins_ had raised this kid and worried that he had maybe plucked it up just to snap its neck or something. He immediately felt horrible for even thinking like that, especially when Damian's eyes went impossibly wider and he leaned down into the kitten's face, moving a finger across it's little forehead and giving it a good scratch. He held the kitten gently, like it might shatter if he held it too tightly.

When Damian finally glanced up at Dick, he already knew that he wouldn't stand a chance against the boy. "Can I keep him, Grayson?" And damn, but Dick was going to have issues if he just melted every time this kid threw big, wide, hopeful eyes at him.

And really, what the hell was Dick supposed to say to that? No, throw the cat back onto the street? He probably _loves_ living in garbage. And then see that glimpse of hope shrivel up and die? Like _hell_.

Dick's sigh was more for show than anything else, and he saw the moment Damian realized he wouldn't have to beg or plead. Dick gave Damian a tiny little smile that Damian returned hesitantly, cradling the kitten just a little bit closer, like a precious thing. "Alright, Dames. How could I say no to a face like that?" Damian's grin stretched out wider and he hid the smirk in the cat's fur, taking a few more steps towards Dick.

Dick was almost 100% sure Damian had ignored everything he had said after 'alright' but he wouldn't make a big deal of it, not when Damian looked so damned pleased with himself. They began their trek back to the penthouse in tandem, Dick resting a hand on the kid's shoulder, keeping him close and safe within reach.

It was sweet, and adorable, and about a hundred other variations on the idea just how soft and gentle the little assassin was with the kitten.

They took the elevator up to Dick's apartment and Damian waited patiently as Dick fiddled with tidying up the living room, suddenly feeling self-conscious even though he had seen the state of Jason's apartment earlier. Damian fussed over the cat while simultaneously staring after Dick in bemusement. After a few minutes, Damian wandered further into the apartment and found the spare bedroom. Dick left him to explore and took the time to call in an order for a few pizzas, to tide them over for the night.

He wandered back to the spare bedroom after his call, expecting to find Damian fawning over his new pet, but instead Damian was sitting on the edge of the bed, his phone held limply in his lap while he stared down at it.

Damian didn't react when Dick walked in, so Dick was able to get close enough to see what had the kid so still. The screen showed a list of Damian's contacts, his thumb hovering uncertainly over Jason's name, a large picture of Jason smiling big and wide and goofy staring back at them from the screen.

Dick couldn't remember the last time he had seen Jason smile like that, if he ever had.

"Why the long face, Damian?" he asked softly, instead of breaking down himself. He would have time for that later, once the situation really hit him and he didn't have a baby brother to watch.

Damian was frighteningly quiet when he finally answered. "I wanted to let him know about the cat, but I can't do that, can I? Not yet, at least." His tiny little face was so mournful, showing more emotion in that one moment than Dick had seen him express in the entire time he had known him.

"It'll be a nice surprise for tomorrow," he wheedled with a wince, instead of the empty platitudes he wanted to say. Somehow, he knew the kid wouldn't take too kindly to them. "I bet he'll just love the little guy." He reached out to pass a hand over the cat's smooth black fur and smiled when it started purring back at him. The kid's face shuddered from emotion to emotion for a moment before it fell blank once more, shoulders squared and jaw raised belligerently. He slid the phone back into his pocket and lifted the kitten up into his arms.

"Why don't we head back out to the living room? I ordered dinner and it should be here soon. The kitten can come with." Damian nodded and Dick led the way out to the couch, where they settled into an awkward silence that Dick eventually had to break by turning on the news. It droned on absently in the background until the doorbell rang.

It turned out that the doorbell didn't just herald in the presence of pizza but also the presence of their other brother, Tim Drake. Damian immediately sat up straighter, kitten gently pushed to the side as he glared at the newcomer. Grayson looked a little confused, but seemed to take Damian's hostility with about as much understanding as he had shown everything else.

" _Grayson_!" Damian hissed, jumping up to put the couch and half of the room between himself and Drake. Grayson stared at him in confusion, but waved Drake into the apartment nonetheless.

"Damian, calm down. _Please_. Tim's a part of this family too, and he's not going to cause a fuss. _Are you_?" he grumbled pointedly, turning to give Drake a significant, eyebrow-wiggling look. Drake just rolled his eyes and pushed past the older man, dropping his stack of grease-soaked pizza boxes onto the table. The moment his hands were free again he was nose deep in his phone, fiddling with it.

"So," he started, never once glancing up from his phone as he wandered towards the living room, "you're Redbird? Not to offend you, but I was expecting someone a little…," he trailed off, glancing up over the top of his phone for a split second, before bringing his eyes right back down to the screen, " _taller_ , I suppose." When Damian didn't relax so much as a muscle, Drake sighed and threw himself down into an armchair, throwing his legs over an arm so he could sit sideways. "Come _on_ ," he grumbled, "it's not like I'm going to _attack you_ or something."

"I wouldn't put it past you," Damian hissed, more tense than before, with Tim Drake sitting there like an insolent king on a throne, "but it's not as if you even _could_. I have been trained by the League of Assassins since _birth_." He drew himself up as tall as he could, chest puffed out and face set in a horrible scowl. " _You_ are no threat to _me_."

Drake dragged his eyes up from his phone to slowly, carefully run his gaze over the younger boy. Damian could read nothing from the look, but it left him feeling vulnerable and obvious. The air was tense between them but then Drake sighed, rolled his eyes, and slithered a little further into the recliner. "You just keep telling yourself that, pipsqueak." He glanced up one more time, eyes narrowed in suspicion as he said, horribly nonchalant, as if he knew something no one else did and just wanted to rub it in, "And just _where_ did Jason pick you up, again?"

There was a glint of knowledge in his eyes that had Damian's little heart pattering painfully in his chest, and he threw a panicked, desperate look towards Grayson, praying for some back up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Drake glancing Grayson's way, as well, though with a far softer, probing air.

Grayson winced beneath the power of their glares and shook his head hard and fast, refusing to get in the middle of this more than he already was. Damian was already turning back to Drake, though, and missed the movement. He was full of spit and vinegar again, eyes blazing and face bright red.

"Jason did not _pick me up_! _I_ came to _him_. I've known Jason Todd since I was a _child_ ," he growled, sounding personally offended that Drake had attempted to make light of their relationship. It didn't help that Damian did not see Tim Drake in a good light, even prior to this meeting. The boy had had the audacity to move in on his brother's territory, take Robin and all that it meant, months after his brother had been presumed dead. And now he was sitting there threatening the bond they had created, treating it as if it were nothing.

No, Tim Drake was no family to himself or Jason. They barely knew him from any stranger on the street and Damian certainly didn't trust him further than he could throw him.

But it also hurt when he saw the pain that flashed through Jason's eyes every time they ran across 'the Replacement' during their nightly excursions, or when they heard his voice over coms, or whenever he came up in conversation. Jason's eyes would go distant and far away, his voice soft, and his words cracking and breaking like brittle rock.

Damian hated Tim Drake for what he had done, and was still doing, to his brother.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Grayson finally interjected, waving his hands wildly and smiling thinly. He looked to be on his last straw, and Damian winced, instantly feeling horrible. He couldn't even do the one thing Jason had asked of him, to be _good_ for Grayson. His chest felt hollow as he turned chastened eyes up to Grayson. "How about we leave the touchy stuff alone for tonight and just enjoy the chance to hang out together? We've got pizza to eat before it gets cold." Drake rolled his eyes, sending one last curious look towards Damian, before standing and grabbing a plate of pizza for himself.

Grayson pawed curiously at the pizza boxes and Damian moved slowly to follow along in his shadow, uncertain of Drake but at least knowing where he stood with Grayson.

A sudden blow of nostalgia hit him right in the chest as the smell of hot, greasy pizza wafted past. He had never eaten pizza before coming to Gotham, but it was something that they nearly lived off of in Jason's apartment, when they were feeling too tired or lazy to cook real food. He never ate pizza without Jason at his side, and it left him feeling off kilter and uncertain now that he was expected to.

Damian's fight seeped out of him in a rush, leaving him exhausted and sad and missing Jason more than ever. He scowled down at the slimy pizza, his shoulders slumped in defeat, but he didn't argue when Grayson pressed a plate into his hands and ushered him back to the sofa.

He sat there, slumped over and unhappy, picking at his pizza while Drake and Grayson sat together on the loveseat opposite him. They were obviously trying not to stare at him, but they were doing a poor job of being sneaky. They were far too obvious for that.

The cat Damian had rescued from the alley chose that moment to pad back into the room, tail flicking in disapproval when she saw another occupant. It glared at Grayson and Drake in turn and then padded over to Damian's feet, brushing up against his legs and purring loudly, as if staking its claim on him.

Slowly, Damian let his muscles relax. Animals had always been important to him, even as a child, as they were soft and simple and he could care for them without fear or reprimand. He let himself melt back into the sofa, the kitten now nuzzled against his thigh, padding and kneading his leg in bliss when Damian finally reached out to scratch at its chin. His pizza lay off to the side, forgotten.

Grayson and Drake traded looks, full of frowns and head shakes and eyebrow raises, before Grayson changed the subject of their discussion from crime fighting to more mundane topics.

After a few minutes of this, Grayson turned toward Damian, face pensive and hesitant. "Hey, Damian?" The boy turned his gaze to Grayson with reluctance, feeling exhausted, and found the older man smiling gently over at him. Drake was giving him another funny look, but Damian thought perhaps that was just the way his face always looked; he certainly wouldn't know, having only just met the other boy. "Remember how I said I would tell you some stories about Jason? Do you want to see some pictures?"

Damian froze for a moment, mind racing over the possibilities. In the end, he figured it might be a good distraction. He shoved his plate onto the table between them, picked up the cat, and moved just a little closer to the other two. "Alright, Grayson. What pictures do you have?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hi everybody! Thank you so much for all the support for this story! I read all of your comments and they keep me going. So this chapter here, I wrote in about 2 hours last night so if you see any mistakes, sorry! I am also in the process of getting a new job so I might not be able to update again next week. We'll just have to wait and see! For now, enjoy!**

Damian had to admit that Grayson knew how to spin a good story. His favorite stories were still the ones his mother had told him as a child, though, of the entire other family he had in Gotham and all the trouble they got into on a regular basis.

He looked up to trade surprisingly longsuffering glances with Drake, who was openly smirking through his wince. Dick cackled as he hopped over to a bookcase, looking overjoyed. "What pictures do I have? Kid, what pictures _don't_ I have? It's a big brother's job to follow their siblings around like a creep and capture all of their greatest hits for, you know, posterity." He threw a sarcastic glare at Drake, and for some reason he turned bright red and melted down into the sofa, grumbling.

"Will you never let that go? I was a little kid that lived in Gotham! Of course I had a serious case of hero worship!" he defended himself hotly, though even Damian could tell that this was an old argument that was treated with more comedy than care now.

"Timmy used to follow us around at night, taking pictures. He was a grade-A stalker," Dick stage whispered at Damian, and Damian swiveled in surprise, throwing a fresh eye over the older teen now that he had this new information.

Drake just threw his head back and groaned, running a hand over his face as he shook his head in defeat. Grayson swept out to his rescue as he resettled back on the sofa between Drake and Damian, a large bound book in his lap. Damian resettled his cat in his lap and leaned further into Grayson's space, almost surprised when Grayson didn't point it out but almost seemed to welcome it.

Damian stared at the pictures Grayson had on display with high suspicion, even though he knew it was highly unlikely he was making up the stories that he said went along with them. But the way he spoke of Jason, so carefree and rebellious and caring and young, hit him as incongruous to the man he knew now.

Grayson had a lot of pictures. Pictures of the Bat Family, the Young Justice team, the Teen Titan team, and even the Justice League on rare occasions. Pictures of these people both in and out of uniform, smiling and laughing and crying and frowning. As the pictures became more recent, he noticed a change in his father, especially in the time immediately following Jason's death.

He grew stiffer and rarely smiled; before, he had always had an arm around someone else in the picture, and after he never seemed to be found with someone else nearby at all. Before, he always had at least a sardonic smirk on his lips, and after he was always stony faced and grim, jaw set like he was grinding his teeth or very close to doing so.

They sat together on the sofa for at least two hours, probably longer, as Grayson spun story after story of his younger years. Damian enjoyed most of them, of course he did; Jason was very sparse with any information relating to his time as Bruce Wayne's ward and Batman's Robin. It was striking to know that Jason wasn't just keeping back bad memories, but good ones, too.

As they neared the end of the second album Grayson had tugged down from the bookcase, Damian followed his motions and took in the size of that piece of furniture; there were probably ten more albums, just as thick as the others, sitting up there. Damian felt his heart stutter at the sight and almost felt sick to his stomach as the realization hit him that he had only really been present for a few sparse years of his brother's life. He knew that Jason's time at the Compound had not been saturated with good memories, not the same way the memories Grayson spoke of were filled with light and laughter and exhilaration.

Grayson described Jason as a happy, rebellious, over excitable teenager with eyes bright with mischief and mind always racing away. He had cared for the people on the streets of Gotham in a way that even Batman couldn't, because he had never been one of them. Jason had cared about the street rats and the starving children and the junkies and the alcoholics when sometimes everyone else decided to turn their backs on them, because there were more important things to worry about.

Nothing was ever more important to Jason than the forgotten of Gotham.

Except, maybe, his family. And he paid for that, Damian knew, with his life.

Damian felt sick.

This Jason Grayson was describing was so different from the man he lived with. Damian supposed he could see bits and pieces of the child in the man he knew, but some of the stories Grayson told had Damian throwing him incredulous looks. This boy Grayson spoke of with such pride and nostalgia was a stranger to Damian. He certainly hadn't existed by the time Jason had shown up at the Compound when Damian had been just a toddler. And he certainly wasn't like that now.

The more Damian thought about it, the more uncertain he felt, guilt gnawing away at his gut.

Grayson, if nothing else, was observant. He seemed to pick up on Damian's struggles almost immediately, closing the book without a second thought. He turned to look Damian over, his eyes tracing over him slowly so as not to miss something important. His eyes were soft, Damian noticed before he ducked his head down.

"I didn't realize just how late it is!" Grayson exclaimed, glancing over Damian's head to see the digital clock over the stove. It was nearly 1 in the morning. "I think it's time for some sleep, Damian. What do you think?"

Damian had to grudgingly admit that he was exhausted, though maybe more due to weariness and worry than any real physical tiredness. He nodded anyway, turning to rake his suspicious glare up and down Drake's face, expecting some sort of joke or comment from the teenager. The other barely even acknowledged him, just waved a lazy hand as he skimmed through his phone. Damian sniffed, lifted up his cat, and walked into the guest room Grayson had given him earlier in the night.

He got ready for bed with mechanical movements, hardly even thinking about anything in front of him as he was so preoccupied with his own thoughts. The cat slunk between his legs as he moved towards the bed, generally being a nuisance, but Damian welcomed the distraction.

He threw his backpack onto the bed and stared at the book nestled inside. He stared at it, biting his lip, and kicked himself for even bothering to bring it tonight. He felt his knees give out and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed, holding the book in his lap while the cat jumped up beside him, settling down and getting comfy enough to sleep. Damian sighed, shaking his head. It was such a stupid thing to bring during an emergency, just a piece of sentimental garbage, and if Drake or Grayson caught him with it he would probably have to kill them to hide the shame of being seen as human.

But then again, it was the book he and Jason were reading together, every night before bed.

It was _theirs_.

It was a hard decision and he felt like such as child, dithering over something that, in the grand scheme of things, wasn't all that important. Did he even _want_ to read the book without Jason? How would Jason even know what was going on tomorrow night if he missed a whole chapter tonight?

Grayson was also sneakier than Damian had given him credit for, as he appeared hovering over Damian with that worried look all over his face. Damian panicked and tried to shove the book back into his backpack, but it was too late, and Grayson had already seen it. Face burning, Damian pushed himself further up on the bed, hiding his face, feeling guilty and lonely and out of place.

"What do you need, Grayson?" Damian growled, refusing to meet his eyes. Grayson just took another step closer, only stopped when he reached the edge of the bed.

"I was just checking in to see how you were doing. You were pretty quiet all night." Damian scoffed at that and Grayson smiled again, this time something a little sadder than hopeful. He took a seat on the edge of the bed beside Damian, close but not too close. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to talk about anything." He smiled then, something a little self-deprecating. "I know how close you are with Jason, and I wanted to let you know that you aren't alone here in Gotham. It's not just you and Jason, all on your lonesome. Tim and me, we're your family, too. I don't want you to ever forget that you have far more family than you think. We're brothers, all of us, and we worry about you two. I worry about you, ever since I saw Jason running around with a kid at his side. Especially since I met you that first time, face to face. Call it big brother instincts. I _worry_."

Damian grumbled, but had to admit that Grayson's words produced a pleasantly warm feeling in his chest. So, Grayson saw them as brothers, too? Even if they had only met one time? "You needn't bother yourself. Jason and I, we take care of each other, look after each other. He understands me because he has been with me through most of my trials. He knows what I am capable of and thinks no less of me for it. However, I think I realized tonight that I do not know quite as much about him as I thought I did."

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back his ridiculous tears. "The Jason you knew before the Pit, he seemed so happy. I have seen Jason happy before, but never like that. Never without a thought, or laughing just to laugh. He is so different now, and I have to wonder, is it because of my mother? My grandfather? Is it because of what they, what _we_ put him through? Or is it something greater than us?"

"Dami," Grayson breathed out slowly, sounding so sad that it left Damian feeling guilty all over again. "That's some pretty heavy stuff to be thinking about, kiddo." He reached out, tentatively wrapping an arm around his little shaking shoulders. When he got no reaction, Grayson sight and brought Damian closer, squeezing him up against his side. If Damian closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that it was Jason sitting there, holding him instead. "I think the way Jay is now is a combination of a lot of thing. But I don't want you to ever think for even one moment that any of that is your fault. You're just a kid, Damian. You said it yourself, you've known him since you were a baby. There's no way that you did anything but make his life brighter. I guarantee it."

Damian sighed with his whole body, shaking his head against Grayson's chest in misery. "You are surprisingly naïve for someone so old," he grumbled half-heartedly. Grayson laughed, shaking Damian's shoulders fondly.

"Are you calling me an old man, little boy? I'm not a geezer yet, buddy. _Promise_." Then he nimbly reached behind Damian to pluck the book out of his baby once more. Damian felt the tips of his ears burning in mortification. "And what's this here? Bedtime story?"

"Jason is attempting to help me improve my reading. I am fluent in speaking English, but I still have difficulty on occasion reading it. We have been practicing at night by reading a chapter before bed." Damian scowled down at his lap as he leaned back out of Grayson's grasp, but his gaze lingered longingly on the cover.

Grayson smiled fondly down at Damian, carefully running his long fingers through Damian's spiky hair. "Okay. Budge up and we can read the next chapter together." Damian bit his lip, unsure, and Grayson seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "It's okay, kiddo. You two can re-read the chapter again tomorrow night. I won't tell." He gave Damian a wink and Damian huffed, feeling slightly grateful but mostly insulted.

So he rolled to make room for Grayson on the bed, his shoulders leaned back against a mountain of pillows. Grayson wrapped one arm around Damian's shoulders and then used the other to prop up the book in his lap.

"How about I read a paragraph and then you read a paragraph?"

Damian blushed but nodded, feeling like a stupid little child in need of reassurance but also like Grayson's coddling may be just the thing he needed to calm down. "That is usually how Jason and I do this, as well," he admitted, letting himself lean ever so much closer to Grayson's side. It still didn't feel _right_ , not like it did with Jason, but Damian was exhausted and he was willing to give Grayson a chance at being his pillow.

"Good. Here, I'll start us off." And then he began the next chapter, even if he had no clue what the book was about of who the characters were. This was not for him, it was for Damian. He seemed to enjoy the tiny ball of warmth leaning up against him, young and exhausted and slowly relaxing until there was no choice but to fall asleep. Grayson sat there for a few more minutes just stroking Damian's arm, making sure he was actually asleep before making to get up.

Once he was sure Damian had absolutely passed out, Dick slipped out of the bed, tugging the blanket up around the kid's shoulders a bit more securely. He brushed a strand of hair from his face and watched, transfixed, as he breathed out peacefully. His little face seemed to lose all of its tension with sleep, and the boy actually looked his age for once, instead of the somber ever-vigilant soldier he had spent the night with.

That kid sure was a piece of work, he mused to himself as he shuffled from the room, closing the door behind himself as quietly as he could. He had so much pressure on his shoulders, with a mind far too advanced for his young age. Dick had to admit that he would definitely fit in just fine in this family, what with that massive chip on his shoulder.

Tim was waiting for him in the living room, because of course he was. "Didn't expect that to take so long," Tim remarked softly, voice quiet so as not to wake the little assassin.

"Yeah," Dick admitted, and knew even without looking that his face was downright smitten. "He's such a good kid, just like Jason said. Carries the world on his shoulders, you know, but he's good. _Sweet_. Ridiculously worried about Jason but then, who isn't, in this family?"

Tim let out an inelegant snort at that but had to admit the truth behind Dick's statements. "He's so quiet. And when he isn't, _confrontational_ ," he accused playfully, like that was Dick's fault. Dick just shrugged it off.

"I know you put it together, who his parents are. I'm letting Jason decide when and how he wants to play this with Bruce. It's not my place, and it's not _yours_ either," Dick stated pointedly, giving Tim a pointed look. Tim just nodded, holding his hands out in defeat.

"I know. I wasn't going to tell Bruce, I swear. Jason probably wouldn't hold back on trying to kill me this time around, I bet." Dick had to admit that was probably more true than Tim liked to entertain.

Damian and Jason were closer, ridiculously close. If Tim took that away from him, Dick wasn't sure how rationally Jason could be expected to react.

"Probably safest," Dick admitted, before turning to check the clock again. It was nearing three in the morning. "You can sleep on the couch if you want, or bunk with me tonight. I only have the one guest room." Tim smirked but easily settled back against the couch cushions, making himself comfy.

"I'll take my chances out here, thanks. You hog the blankets and cuddle like an octopus."

Dick scoffed in mock refusal. "Whatever. I'm gonna take Damian back to Jason's as soon as possible in the morning. I doubt I'll be able to push it back any more than that. Kid's worried enough as it is." Tim nodded, leaning back until he was stretched out on the sofa. Dick said goodnight, checked the lock on the front door one more time, and then made his way to his own bed for the night.

Babysitting was _exhausting_.

Tim was he first one up, already gulping down his third cup of coffee by the time Dick stumbled into the kitchen, shortly followed by Damian and his kitten. The kid definitely looked worse for wear, with bloodshot eyes and heavy bags beneath them. The poor boy looked like he hadn't slept a wink.

The cat pranced into the kitchen like it owned the place, nose up in the air. It hopped from the floor up onto the counter and then proceeded to mewl loudly in Damian's face until he started blearily searching the cabinets for something to feed it.

Dick busied himself pouring three bowls of cereal and then forcing them on his younger brothers. They all sat at the table together, heads down and bleary eyed as they tried to wake up.

"I've got to get home and get changed, I've got a meeting later today at WE," Tim said after another cup of coffee and half a bowl of cereal. He gulped down the last of his cup and then stood. He paused before he left the table, looking down at Damian with a contemplative look on his face. Then he sighed, leaned down so Damian had no choice to look him in the face, and said, "It was nice to meet you, Damian. I really do hope Jason's feeling better this morning." He rested a hand on Damian's shoulder for a fraction of a second before flitting away, knocking any sign of affection from him probably wasn't welcome. "Bye, Dick!" he called as he fled the room the next moment, the front door clicking quietly behind him as he left in a rush.

"Well," Dick drawled, blinking slowly at Tim's departure, his spoon still hovering in front of his face. "Don't you mind him, Damian. Tim gets a little hyper-focused sometimes. When he isn't, it's just weird." He shrugged to himself, rolled his eyes, and went back to eating his breakfast.

Damian remained silent, unsure how to process that declaration, but he did turn to glance at the doorway in confusion. The cat, now sated with breakfast, rubbed up against his leg and support and Damian turned his attention down to it instead.

As he was patting the kitten's dark side, Dick peeked over at him, grinning at the adorable sight. He hated to break the moment. "As soon as you're ready to go, we can head back to Jason's."

Damian's head jerked up at that. He stared at Dick for about three frighteningly intense seconds before he hopped up from his chair and sprinted to the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him. Dick watched in amusement. He could hear the kid banging around in the other room, throwing everything into his bag while simultaneously trying to shimmy into new clothes.

He showed back up before Dick was even done with his cereal, bag slung over one shoulder, cat at his feet, an impatient glare on his face as he tapped his foot. Dick just smiled and slurped at his milk; he didn't want to be an ass, though, so he finished his breakfast quicker than he normally did, just for the kid.

"Alright, alright," Dick finally chuckled, breaking beneath Damian's almost panicked gaze. The kid scooped his cat up into his arms and took Dick's hand with his free one, tugging him over to the door. Dick took just long enough to lock the door behind them before leading them to the elevator, the lobby, and then out on to the street.

Damian clung to Dick's hand with a death grip. His face was calm and blank, hiding his obvious anxiety and fear at what they would find once they entered the apartment. Dick squeezed back gently, rubbing his thumb over Damian's knuckles.

The apartment was easy enough to find but Dick took a little too much time dismantling Jason's alarms for Damian's tastes. He stood impatiently beside Dick as he crouched in front of the door, lock pick at the ready while he worked. Finally, the door clicked open and Damian rushed past him to the closet, shoving the false wooden backing out of the way so Dick could get to the keypad. Dick followed a step behind, inputting the code before tugging the door open for his youngest brother.

Damian darted past Grayson again without a backwards glance. There was silence and then a long, loud groan, before Damian started chattering away at Jason like he hadn't at all the whole night before. Dick stepped into the room and felt a pang of pity for his Little Wing.

The poor guy was sprawled across the bed in much the same position they had left him in. The room, however, was another story entirely; it looked trashed, like a hurricane had gone through destroying everything, but at least Jason didn't look any worse for it. Damian was laying right on top of Jason, leaning sideways across his back and over his shoulder so his face was right next to Jason's.

"Are you alright? You didn't hurt yourself, did you? This is ridiculous, Jason, why aren't you awake yet? Move over, Todd, I need to see if you are bleeding. Jason. Jason. Jason! I mean it!" He started tugging at Jason's shoulder then, which caused Jason to groan that much louder in response, but he still refused to open his eyes.

Dick figured he should probably step in at this point.

"Okay, Dami. How about we give Jason some room to breathe?" He reached forward with an answer, lifting Damian off of Jason's back. He couldn't help but roll his eyes when Damian put up a fight, thrashing in his grip, trying to break free.

"I'm up, I swear. Give me like, two minutes." Jason waved a hand at them from the mound of blankets he was buried under but didn't try to make another move. Dick sighed but was able to tug Damian closer, moving towards the door.

"We'll get breakfast started, how about that. Come join us when you're ready, Jace. C'mon, kiddo; I'll need help." He didn't let go of the kid, wrapping him up tight in his arms while he complained the whole way.

Damian was a master complainer, but at least he wasn't hitting or kicking or biting. He set Damian up at the toaster, telling him to make enough toast to feed a small army or, alternatively, enough for a Jason coming off a wild bender, which was his closest approximation for the situation at hand. He started in on the bacon and eggs, mentally preparing himself for Jason's comments once he caught a whiff of his cooking. Jason had always been better at that than him and never wasted a chance to shove that in Dick's face.

A few minutes later, Jason finally graced them with his presence, having finally dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen, though obviously grudgingly if Dick understood anything from Jason's wincing. He blinked half open eyes at them and Dick glanced up just long enough to see his knuckles were bloodied but dry and he had bruises running all up and down his arms and on his face.

Damian's head snapped towards Jason's direction the moment he heard him, abandoning his toast-making duties in order to check up on Jason. "Are you alright?" he asked, voice so small and quiet that it had both Jason and Dick turning to look at him in concern.

"Hey, kid. You know me, nothing keeps me down for long," he said, running a hand through Damian's hair slowly, tugging slightly at the ends to get his attention. "Now, what did you two make me? Huh?"

Damian glared at the affection but led Jason to the counter without further question. Jason sat down at the table, leaned heavily on his arms, his eyes narrowed to slits as he watched Dick and Damian fix up plates. Jason's was unceremoniously stuffed into his face in no time at all. He sat up reluctantly, inhaling the food before Dick or Damian could even sit down with him.

Damian settled down next to Dick, across from Jason, wide eyed and focused as he watched his big brother. Dick was a little less obvious about it, but he was staring, too. Jason ignored them both and just focused on eating until he couldn't take it anymore.

"So, Dames. What did you guys do yesterday?" He must have figured that was a safe enough question to start with, though he obviously wasn't prepared for the answer.

"We went to Grayson's apartment and Drake spent the night with us while Grayson told us stories of your youth." Jason nearly choked, instead choosing to spit out his surprisingly good eggs in shock.

And then the cat chose that moment to hop up on the table, purring as he came to settle by Damian's elbow, rubbing up against him insistently. Jason blinked dumbly at the animal. "When did we get a cat?"

So then Dick had to add his two-cents to the conversation.

"Damian adopted a gutter cat," he pointed out, shoving his egg-laden fork at the black cat, mouth full and chomping, calm as can be. Jason turned his exasperated gaze from Dick to Damian, which was his first mistake, as the kid's eyes were wide and pleading and Jason was a sucker for that look, no matter what.

"Fine. Fine. Gutter Cat can stay, whatever."

Jason was far too tired and sore for any of this shit, but Damian was a kid and pets were supposed to be good for kids, right? They taught them responsibility, or something like that. And realistically, he was a little surprised Damian hadn't picked up any strays before now. When he had been nothing but a baby, Damian had used to chase the little critters stupid enough to wander the Compound's grounds, running after them, just wanting a cuddle.

And then the first part of Damian's sentence caught up with him. "What was the Replacement doing over there?" His eyes widened and he turned on Dick, glaring. "Did he figure it out? Oh, who am I kidding, of course he did. Is he going to tell or does he need a personalized gag order?" Jason brandished a fist but it lost some of its menace when he looked so tired even lifting it off the table.

"Tim isn't going to say anything, Jason. I talked to him already." His eyes slid to the side, catching Damian's reaction. The kid just looked resigned and vaguely annoyed at it all.

"I really do not understand why we have to keep my parentage such a secret. Am I ever going to meet Father?" he whined, glaring down at his toast, shoulders slumped in dejection. Jason sighed into his hands, roughly rubbing at his face in agitation.

God, how to answer that loaded question?

"We'll figure it out, Demon Baby. Just give me a little more time, okay?" Damian didn't perk up, but Jason hadn't really been expecting him to. The kid practically worshiped Batman. He had grown up on story after story about the man, but Jason knew that sometimes stories just didn't do the truth justice. Bruce was just a man, after all, and Damian would have to come face to face with that fact when he met him. His perfect image of who he imagined his father to be would shatter. Jason just wanted to make sure that Damian was prepared for that eventuality before he threw him into that whole mess.

Dick met Jason's eyes over the table and they traded heavy looks. Dick realized what a mess they were in, too, and winced in sympathy. But he would be there for them, both of them, easing the situation any way he could.

In the silence that followed, Damian chimed up, slightly more upbeat than before but sounding oddly confused. "Did you really put pink hair coloring in Father's shampoo when you were a child, Jason?"

Jason's head whirled around and he glared fiery death at Dick Grayson. "You told him that story? What else did you let out of that big fat mouth of yours?"

Dick was too busy cackling at Jason's reaction, and even Damian was sporting a tiny pleased grin, so Jason had no choice but to cave and crack a grin of his own. The spark of anger that that reminder of better times had rekindled was promptly simmered down as he recalled the somber look on Bruce's face as he sat at the dinner table, pink hair and all, acting like nothing was wrong.

 _That_ was the Bruce that Jason missed. He had changed so much since Jason's death; he had become harder, less demonstrative. Deep down he knew that the Replacement had to have helped loosen him up at least a little bit, and he was grateful for that. It was jarring to know that Jason's death had caused such an impact on Bruce, so much so as to be nearly indecipherable now. But it also sucked, because Jason's death hadn't made Bruce a better person, it had just made him harder, and jaded, and sad.

Jason didn't really feel comfortable giving his precious baby brother over to a man he could hardly recognize. Sure, five years ago Bruce would have been overjoyed to find he had another child, one that was he true flesh and blood no doubt. A child that was his true child, his own baby. But now, Jason wasn't so sure how he would react. Probably with suspicion and gruffness, just because of how he was raised and who did the raising. Not to mention the fact that pretty much every other member of the family knew who Damian was at this point and were keeping it quiet due to Jason. The Bruce of today would see it as taking sides, that everyone had chosen to keep him in the dark just to spite him or something.

This was just one big shit storm waiting to happen, and Jason knew the truth was going to have to come out sooner rather than later. But then he would look down at his baby brother's little face and see red streaked across it, bruises from a crowbar, cuts from a knife, blood matted to his hair and his face and his uniform, and he would say one more day. One more day to prepare, one more day to think of just the right thing to say, the perfect way to reveal Damian and all the history he carried with him.

He didn't want to see his brother heartbroken, but even more, he didn't want to see him dead.

This was a crazy situation and sometimes Jason wished he could just wash his hands of it all, leave it up to someone more experienced or capable than himself.

But there _was_ no one else, so he was going to have to suck it up and figure it out, whether he wanted to or not.

Sometimes being the big brother, the _adult_ , sucked ass.

Now he definitely knew how Bruce felt all the time.

And wasn't that just shudder-worthy?


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Short chapter is short! Sorry, but I forgot to write anything until last night at about 10 pm. This is sort of a little interlude before we get to what I'm sure most people have been waiting for. Just a bit of what Damian's thinking and feeling. Enjoy!**

Damian al Ghul had been born the Prince of two great houses; as the grandson of the Demon Head and the son of the Batman, he was held to a higher standard. He had been raised in seclusion high up in the mountains, residing within the indestructible walls of the Demon Head Compound. Silent assassins had ghosted through the corridors of his home, training in the courtyard and defending him and his family with their lives. His grandfather had been a distant, terrifying figure, someone he had learned early on in life to avoid if at all possible. His mother had been kind and loving, but had ultimately had other obligations as well. She had tried her best, he knew, but it had still been a cold and lonely childhood.

Memories of his youngest years were riddled with heart-stopping stories of his father's exploits. His mother, when she had had the time, had indulged his curiosity with a fond, faraway look. He had heard stories of his father's rogue gallery, of the sick people he fought on a regular basis, of his father's other children and hangers-on. Gotham sounded like a grim, violent, _amazing_ place, all the way on the other side of the world.

Growing up with the knowledge and continued insistence that he was meant for greater things had inflated Damian's natural arrogance and superiority, to his mother's combined pride and exasperation. He told anyone that would listen that he was simply waiting to meet his father, so that he could take his rightful place at the man's side.

And then, when Damian had been barely two years old, another child had shown up in the Compound. His mother had introduced them with worry in her eyes and a fond smile quirking her lips. She said the boy was Jason, that he was Damian's older brother, that he had suffered a great injury and that they were going to help him. She had looked determined as she said that, jaw set and eyes glittering dangerously as she had glanced toward the door, Damian's grandfather's voice echoing down the corridor.

Damian had been taught from a young age to hide emotion, to show the world a cold and detached exterior in order to better protect himself. But then Jason had come into his life and his stoic mask had begun to crumble. The boy his mother had introduced to him had been nearly frightening to the toddler standing before him, the older boy's face blank and empty. But the boy had been a good companion, silent but willing to follow Damian around the Compound without question. And then weeks later, Jason had been thrown into the Pit, seemingly awakening something that had been buried deep within him. Sharp intelligence and fierce emotion had suddenly engulfed the older boy. The difference had been night and day.

Before, Jason had been like a blank slate, empty and waiting to be filled up. Afterwards, Jason had been like that same slate harshly scribbled over and lashed at with chalk in every direction. It had been insanity at its finest.

Jason had been Damian's confidant, his companion, and eventually, his brother. Due to Damian's young age, there was hardly a time he could recall without Jason in his life. The older boy had always been at Damian's side, in his memory. With and without his spark of life, Jason had taught Damian many things.

He had taught Damian how to flip through the air like a bird, how to speak English like an American, and most importantly, how to enjoy things instead of assuming there always had to be an underlying motive.

Jason had been a constant in Damian's life, when even his own mother and grandfather were not.

And then he had just been _gone_.

Jason had promised to return, to write him letters, to at least _visit_ every now and then. Damian had held on to those words like the child he had been. Now that Damian was older and wiser, he realized how foolish he had been to believe the impossible things his brother had said.

After Jason had left, his mother had told him that Jason had returned home. The child that Damian had been at the time had not understood; certainly, the Compound had been his home, correct? But then she had explained: Jason's home was and always would be, Gotham. Not the Compound.

What Damian had heard, of course, was that Jason's home was Bruce Wayne, not Damian al Ghul.

Now that Damian was older, he understood his brother's struggle just a bit more. Jason had been just a boy. He had been confused, and hurt, and frightened. He had been torn in half, between his two families, two ideologies, two desires.

Once Damian had arrived in Gotham, Jason had tried to explain himself. He had talked late into the night, trying to put all of Damian's fears to rest, yet they continued to return, festering in the back of Damian's mind.

Jason was the most important person in Damian's life right now. Damian depended on his brother for everything: food and water, shelter, affection, attention, safety. Jason kept him protected, taught him things, loved him unconditionally.

And he knew Jason loved him. Jason crowed about Damian with pride to anyone that would listen, and Damian knew that he worried over him constantly. Though Jason had done so many things wrong since Damian had met him, lying and pretending and ignoring his own promises, Damian still held undying faith in him.

He knew it was naïve, but in Damian's eyes, Jason could truly do no wrong. His brother was his idol, a man that had flaws and made mistakes but was still perfect in his imperfection. Damian was not an idiot; he knew that Jason was dangerous, what with his nightmares and the Pit Madness and his breathtaking anger management issues. But, in the same instance, Jason always pressed soft kisses to his forehead when he tucked him in at night, made breakfast for him every morning no matter the situation, and held his hand outside just to keep him from getting lost.

Jason was all that he needed, he told himself stubbornly. When he had first arrived in Gotham, he had vaguely known of the other members of the vigilante family residing there, but had ultimately passed them off as unimportant.

In the end, Richard Grayson had surprised him.

Richard 'Dick' Grayson was bubbly, energetic, and earnest. He had such obvious and honest affection and love for Jason, as well as unbelievable regret. He had noticed when Jason had shifted uncomfortably on the street, and had backed off without question.

Jason had always spoken highly of Grayson, even when it had been drenched in bitterness and remorse. From what Damian understood, his father had held Grayson up as the prodigy, the perfection that had to be imitated, and Jason felt that he had not lived up to Batman's expectations. That had bred anger and resentment between the two brothers in their younger years, which had thankfully dulled with age and perspective.

Now they admitted (though occasionally grudgingly) that they were brothers, at least when it mattered.

Grayson had been exceptionally kind and understanding throughout the night he had spent with him. Spending more than twenty minutes with the man and having a conversation longer than a few words had given Damian a clearer picture of his oldest brother.

He had surprised himself, with how much he had enjoyed the experience, even while worrying about Jason. Grayson hadn't pushed Damian to join in their conversation, he had simply encouraged him to speak his mind and feel comfortable in their presence. He had been kind, he hadn't poked fun at him, he hadn't called him childish or stupid or weak.

Slowly, Damian felt that his family could actually be expanding.

Timothy Drake had been another story altogether. Jason's residual pain and anger at his death and subsequent replacement had been siphoned down to Damian, though that obviously hadn't been Jason's intention. He knew Jason was attempting to repair the strained relationship between himself and his Replacement, as he called him, but it was slow going and Damian knew that inside, Jason was still bitter.

Drake was such an _enigma_. At first, he had seemed aloof and uncaring, like he had much better things to be doing than speak to Damian. But then he would turn on Damian with such laser focus that it left him feeling quite unnerved and uncomfortable. Drake was not someone to underestimate, but Damian wasn't sure he was someone to trust yet, either. Drake was dangerous, possibly useful, but entirely confusing.

Damian had caught glimpses of the other vigilantes in passing, though never stopping to chat with any of them for fear of Batman swooping in to interrogate him. Damian was curious, of course he was; he wondered if Batman had even noticed the new vigilante following his wayward son around at night. He wondered, with both hope and dread, if he was even interested in him at all. Surely the world's greatest detective would have noticed a small child hiding in his black sheep's shadow.

Whenever Damian let his mind wander on the subject, dread would fester at the back of his mind, curdle in the pit of his stomach. He worried over everything, wondering if the relationships and life that he had built with his family members, the whole dynamic, would collapse once his father found out the truth.

He couldn't help but wonder, though. Was Bruce Wayne curious about him? Damian often fantasized about what his father might make of him. Would he welcome him with open arms, or turn him away because of who his mother was? Would he be angry that they had hidden the truth from him, or would he try to understand their situation?

Would he even care? Would he hate him, put up a protest at Damian even setting foot in his city?

Would he make him leave?

Anxiety was a constant feeling whenever his mind wandered into this dangerous territory. He would practice speeches in his head, late at night as he tried to fall asleep. He wondered just what he could say to his father to make all his fears null and void. Every word, every phrase, every stance he thought of felt wrong, though. Something was missing, but he couldn't pick out what exactly it was. He wanted to meet Bruce Wayne, Batman, his father more than anything. The man was a living legend that he prayed lived up to the legend.

Damian had been brought up as an assassin, a killer, and, he occasionally mused, a monster. He may be a vigilante now, just like the rest of Batman's family in Gotham, but sometimes the things he had had to do during his training came back, haunting him, reminding him of his lowest lows. He was trying, though, to be a better person; he was trying his best to be someone his father could be proud to call son.

He just wasn't sure his best would be good enough, and it was moments like this where he yearned for his mother like a missing limb.


	8. Chapter 8

Bruce knew something was going on with the kids and it was driving him _crazy_.

Tim sent him funny looks when they sat across from each other at dinner, like he was trying to see beneath Bruce's skin or something. He had caught Dick staring at the portrait of a young Bruce Wayne with his parents in the office, a calculating light to his searching eyes. Stephanie and Barbara continuously herded him away from Jason during patrol; originally, he had assumed Jason was mad at him for something or another, but once he thought about, he had to admit that he hadn't done anything too horrible in the last few months to garner the run around.

And then he had caught a glimpse of the little shadow following Jason around, and realized just why Jason might want some distance between himself and Batman. Jason was taking care of a kid, a _very young_ kid, by the looks of him. He probably thought Bruce would disapprove, and Bruce _did_ , a little bit. Jason was volatile with his own family members that could take the hits easily enough. But a kid in that situation, a kid that depended on Jason, probably wouldn't fare as well. The more they kept him away, the more Bruce worried.

He stood atop the Wayne Enterprises building, enjoying the view from one of the tallest buildings in Gotham. From this vantage point, he could see most of the city spread out before him. His family was easy enough to pick out of the gloom, with their bright colors and quick movements.

Red Robin and Nightwing were swinging between buildings down on 63rd Avenue, on their way down to the docks, no doubt. Sadly, Black Bat was out of town for the foreseeable future, tracking down her own demons elsewhere. Batgirls was in the middle of a knock down, throw out fist fight with a group of Penguin's thugs down by Crime Alley. Red Hood and his new partner, Redbird, were nowhere to be seen, even if Batgirl was nearly on their doorstep.

And then suddenly, Red Hood and Redbird stepped out from the shadows. The boy stood proud and cocky, stance so like another little boy Batman remembered from not too long ago. Red Hood was staring him down, as if daring him to do something stupid, while Batgirl called out to them enthusiastically. She didn't look too surprised by their arrival and Batman watched the scene unfold carefully, just in case he needed to intervene.

He focused on the child, curious despite himself. He was tiny, almost as small as Dick had been when he first met him. His frame was stocky and solid and he seemed to know exactly what to do with himself in a fight. That helped him feel just a bit better about the boy being out on the streets with them, at least. The thugs didn't seem to take him seriously, overlooking him to focus on the known quantities. The boy took offense to being ignored and recklessly threw himself into the center of the fight, trying to prove himself, no doubt.

It took the group less than five minutes to down all of the hired hands, tying them up for the authorities to find later. Batman kneeled down on the roof, knowing they wouldn't need his help any time soon. As he watched, Batgirl skipped over to Red Hood, slinging one carefree arm around the Hood's waist and reaching out with the other to pat Redbird on the head fondly.

The boy looked seconds away from attacking her, but Red Hood just held a hand out against the kid's chest, dragging him closer with one arm until he was squeezed up against him tight. The arm still slung around Batgirl's waist patted her hip affectionately while the boy snapped and snarled at her. She watched this all transpire with a fondly exasperated smirk.

The kid deflated against his partner's body, leaning his chin against Red Hood's stomach in order to look up into his face. The boy really was tiny, barely reaching above the Hood's waist. That ever-present worry was starting to rear its head again; at least Batman had always waited until the kids were at least 10 years old before letting them don a costume.

The three disentangled a few minutes later, going their separate ways for the night, and Batman stood from his crouch. The interaction sure had given him plenty to think about concerning the boy he knew next to nothing about, but it was an issue he would have to address later. Research would need to be done on just who the boy was, and if the Hood was putting him at undue risk because of his age. He was also a bit curious about just where the Hood had found him and why everyone but Batman seemed to have met him by now.

If Batman was a less mature man, he might have even been a little jealous.

Redbird was lagging tonight, movements sluggish and delayed, and Red Hood wasn't sure if it was because the kid was overtired or if something had happened. As they were roof-hopping across town to the docks, answering a call for assistance from Red Robin, the Hood just happened to turn to the side and see Batman running parallel to them, three rooftops away but definitely not far enough away for his comfort, likely heading to the same spot.

The Hood slammed on the brakes and Redbird followed suit. The stood together at the edge of the rooftop, watching as Batman disappeared further into distance until he finally fell out of view.

Glancing down at his partner, the Hood had to let out a little sigh; the kid was staring longingly after Batman, practically leaning forward toward his shadow. The Hood clapped a hand on the kid's shoulder and turned him in the opposite direction. The other Bats could take care of Red Robin's mess; Red Hood and Redbird could have Oracle point them in the direction of something criminal going on on the other side of the city.

That was the good thing about Gotham, there was always _something_ shady going on.

Redbird gave the docks one last longing glance but Batman was long gone, now. He turned instead, following in Red Hood's footsteps, silent and sure and trusting as always.

The days and nights had dragged on like pulling teeth and Damian was acting _off_. It would have been _fine_ , Jason would have been able to _handle_ it, if he could have pinpointed just _why_ Damian was acting so strange.

It was throwing Jason off, and that was never a good thing.

He couldn't think of what could have possibly happened in the last week to turn his chirpy, annoying little brother into this morose, sniffling little sack of emotions. Nothing out of the norm had happened, not that he could think of, at least. The others had been doing great, playing runaround with Batman for the last few weeks, so it probably wasn't that. There had been more than one close call with Batman, though; every time they ran into him he was one rooftop closer, one step nearer, one glance away from finding them.

But that couldn't be it, right?

As a last ditch effort, Jason swallowed what was left of his rotten pride and called Dick from the relative privacy of the bathroom, Damian still chomping dejectedly at his veggies in the dining room. Jason was feeling just a little bit frantic, tearing at his hair hoping for answers. "Dick!" he shouted the second the line connected, not even waiting for a response. "Do you know what's got Damian so sulky? Has he said anything to you?"

The silence stretched for a little too long and Jason started to panic again. Then he heard Dick sigh and start moving, most likely pacing. " _Jason_ ," he breathed out, and it sounded exhausted, "No, he hasn't said a word to me about anything. I really don't think we're quite there, yet. Pretty sure I'm in the 'tolerable' category because you told him to tolerate me." He sighed again, blowing a heavy breath through the phone, and Jason almost berated him for getting off track but Dick beat him there, speaking softly.

"I do know that you guys keep running into Bruce, though. If I was Damian, I think I'd be feeling a little uneasy at the moment. He's never _talked_ to Bruce, never even _met_ him, right? Well, Bruce keeps getting closer to you guys. He keeps sneaking around my blocks and distractions and I think he's getting suspicious. This can't hold up much longer, Jay. You might want to get it out in the open sooner rather than later."

Dick sighed again but he sounded almost fond this time. "If not for Bruce's sake, then for _Damian's_ , Jason."

Jason huffed but had to concede Dick's point. Bruce and Damian would have to meet eventually anyway. Right? Well, yes. But it was going to be _Hell_. "Alright. _Fine_. Thanks, I guess." And then he hung up and wandered back to the living room to find Damian still poking listlessly at his green beans.

Darkness came sooner than either of them wanted to admit, but midnight found them curled up together on Damian's bed, thick comforter wrapped around them as they flipped through a few of Damian's shorter books. Jason had made the executive decision to take the night off; it had been a long shitty week for Jason and he needed the break. And Jason figured if he was starting to feel the strain, he could only imagine how exhausted Damian was feeling.

That big brother pride was burning strong in his chest as he watched Damian read through the short, chaptered books on his own, hardly stumbling at all. The kid's English was improving rapidly and Jason couldn't be happier.

Damian grew bored with them quicker than usual, though, discarding the last book onto the bedside table before turning to curl closer to Jason's side, face pensive and tired. Jason hunkered down a little more until they were face to face, Damian wrapped up snuggly in Jason's arms so he couldn't squirm away.

Jason took a deep breath and then jumped right into it. "What's been eating at you tonight, buddy? What's wrong? Hmm?"

Damian wouldn't meet Jason's eyes, but his face flushed red and he looked almost guilty. He buried his face in Jason's chest after a moment and grabbed a handful of his shirt, tugging on the hem for a few moments before daring to open his mouth.

"Do you think Father would like me?" he asked, voice so tiny and shaky and insecure. "If we ever met?"

Jason's heart broke at the tone of his baby brother's voice. He sounded so hesitant and frightened, like he thought for even a second that Bruce could ever do anything but love him. He was such a sweet kid, even if he did take a little effort to understand. Jason had always chalked his own ease with the kid up to having known him since he was in diapers.

That kid had grown up with him around, known him when he was a zombie, after when he had been raving mad from the Pit, and when he had started levelling out, returning to normal just enough to realize he had a little shadow following him around. That kid had kicked his ass into gear, making him realize he needed to be a _better_ person, _more_ of a person, because his little brother was _counting_ on him. He had wanted so desperately to be a good big brother for the baby toddling along behind him, staring up at him as if he expected him to always be there, helping him and holding him and loving him.

There had been no question, back then, about being _loved_.

"Kiddo. Your dad will _absolutely_ love you. There's no question, no doubt about that, understand? You're such a good boy, Dami." He pressed a kiss to Damian's hairline and rubbed his back in big, sweeping motions. "Don't you worry about this, okay?" Jason sighed, bracing himself mentally before letting out a big gust of pent up tension. He was really doing this, apparently. "I'll try to set something up so you two can meet, okay? I know how important your Dad is to you. I don't want to take that away from you, not for forever. Just give me a little time and we'll figure it all out."

Jason could feel Damian's smile against his chest and he held his breath, holding this moment in his mind as long as he could. He didn't want to give this up, any of it, but this wasn't just about him anymore. This was about Damian. This was about what _he_ wanted, what _he_ needed. And who was Jason to stand between them?

"I need you to go patrol with Red Robin tonight, alright, Redbird?" the Hood said, turning to look down at his partner. The kid didn't look happy about it, frowning and glaring at him with suspicion, but they had been working together long enough now that he didn't put up much of a fight, trotting over to Red Robin's side without more than a disgruntled huff.

"Well. _That's_ not suspicious or anything," Red Robin grumbled to Redbird, turning around to lead them away from Red Hood and Nightwing. Redbird fell into step behind him, dragging his feet as he continued to glance behind them. When Red Robin glanced his way, he found the kid sulking. Feeling just a little bad for him, Red Robin threw an arm around his shoulder. "Hey," he said, shaking him just a little, giving him a good little squeeze while he was at it. The kid just scowled. "I'm sure it's nothing. It'll be fine."

Redbird obviously wasn't buying it, but he growled and nodded, shrugging Red Robin's arm off of him as he readied a projectile. "Fine. Yes. _Whatever_. Now, we have work to do, do we not?"

Red Robin sighed but nodded, following the kid deeper into the city.

He could already tell this was going to be a _long night_.

Batman was waiting near the docks. Red Hood had sent him a message earlier, snarling out that they _needed to talk_ , so here he was. It was good timing, he admitted, as there were a few things he needed to speak to Red Hood about, as well.

His boy was running late, but that had always been Jason's style. He knew time was precious and powerful, and making someone waste that precious time was a show of power. Jason had been powerless as a child, and as he had grown, he had found that he enjoyed holding power over people, but _especially_ Batman, regardless of the situation.

Red Hood arrived twenty minutes after the agreed upon time, as Batman had assumed he would. It wasn't a shock nor a surprise.

What _was_ surprising was that he had brought Nightwing along with him. Whether as back up or as a mediator, Batman wasn't sure. As far as he knew, the brothers still weren't on good terms, so he was at a bit of a loss.

Nightwing's light steps hit the rooftop, followed seconds later by Red Hood's heavier combat boots. When Batman turned to look at them, Nightwing moved to stand between them, gaze swinging between them neutrally. So. Mediator, then.

"Boys," Batman rumbled, addressing them both. Red Hood bristled slightly but Nightwing just sighed, giving his brother a longsuffering glare. Batman took that in without comment and filed it away for later review.

" _Batman_ ," Red Hood ground out through his teeth. He ripped the helmet from his head and, sure enough, he was grimacing. Batman tensed up, ready for a fight if that's what this was all about. He waited for the punch, the bad news, _something_. Jason kept the Hood on as often as he could during situations like this; that he had taken it off was more of an indicator of his mood than anything else. "We've gotta talk, old man."

Batman nodded, relaxing just a bit, his body still tense but not the live wire it had been moments before. Jason didn't sound _angry_ , he sounded _exhausted_. Jason reached up to swipe at his face in agitation before giving Nightwing a helpless look. When he didn't get any help there, he sighed with his whole body and revealed, "It's about Redbird."

"Ah," Bruce said, relaxing into the role of father instead of vigilante, his tone resonating as if he understood what was going on, when he really didn't. "The boy?"

Jason grit his teeth but nodded anyway, starting to pace from one end of the roof to the other, nervous energy pouring off of him. "Yes. _The_ _boy_."

And then he fell silent again, apparently at a loss for words. Bruce glanced at Dick, but he wasn't talking, so Bruce tried to pry the words from Jason, instead. "Alright. Do you need me to take him in? Is that what this is all about? You can't take care of him?"

Bruce really was trying to be helpful, not condescending, but the moment the words left his mouth, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Jason's face, his voice, always so expressive even behind a mask and a helmet, shut down immediately. His face clouded over, his mouth slashed into a scowl, and his hands balled up into fists at his sides.

"Why do you assume I can't handle him?" he growled viciously. "He's _my_ responsibility; his mom asked _me_ to watch him, not _you_!" Jason was red in the face and spitting mad, and Bruce regretted opening his mouth, but couldn't help filing his odd reaction away for later review, too.

So, Jason knew the boy's mother. _That's_ how they were connected.

"Jason," Bruce called softly, knowing that even here it was possible to be overheard. "I didn't mean anything by that. I just wanted to know if you need help providing for him." Jason was still too angry to speak, so Dick stepped in, fulfilling his role in this confrontation.

"Jason just wanted to know if you'd like to meet Redbird, officially. The kid's kind of a fan, and he's heard a bunch of stories about you. He'd really like to get to know you." He sent an odd look hurtling towards Jason that had his second eldest deflating in defeat, anger seeping from him.

"Yeah," he said blandly, exhausted, "kid's a huge fan. It'd mean the world to him," he admitted, wincing like it physically pained him to have to admit it out loud.

Bruce watched him in confusion but nodded slowly anyway. "Of course. I assume the boy already knows who we are? Especially if he lives with you," he mused, trailing off uncertainly. He wasn't actually sure if the boy lived with Jason or not. The matter of their identities was a bigger concern for him; Jason had always been lax about keeping himself a secret, treating it more like an exciting mystery than something that could get him and the others killed. Of course, now that he was a few years older, he was hardly recognizable as the Wayne teenager that had died, two feet and 150 pounds earlier. The public hardly remembered Jason Todd Wayne outside of old newspaper clippings which was lucky for Jason, who could pass as a random teenager on the streets pretty easily nowadays.

Jason scoffed at Bruce, and Dick's face took on a funny, pinched expression. "Yeah. He _sure_ knows who we are," Jason said, like it was a joke, like he knew something that Bruce didn't. That alone had Bruce's suspicions rising once more.

And then a horrible thought hit him, he did some quick math in his head, and blanched at the possibility. " _Jason_ ," he said softly, worried now. "This boy. He isn't _yours_ , is he?"

Jason's face turned pale so fast Bruce worried he might pass out; Dick, on the other hand, broke out into helpless, hysterical laughter.

Bruce sighed in relief, thoughts of being a grandfather at his age thankfully shoved far, _far_ away. "Alright, then. Well, bring him by the Cave sometime. I'm sure I can find something to keep him busy."

Jason gaped at him in shock, looking as if he really wanted to say something to that but was holding himself back. Dick reached out and dragged him away, back to the edge of the roof. "Calm down, Jay. He didn't know any better. Now, c'mon. Let's get back to the kids. Bye, B!" And then they were both rappelling away, disappearing back into the Gotham gloom.

That was _odd_.

However, Batman and Bruce Wayne both had dealt with far odder situations. He turned back to the city to collect his thoughts only to find Red Robin and Redbird perched on a rooftop maybe six blocks away, staring right at him.

He shook his head but disregarded the audience. He turned away from the boys and went back to the muggy Gotham night, catching the first peal of a police siren blaring down by Crime Alley. Hopefully, with Jason distracted, he wouldn't throw a fit about Batman edging toward his turf tonight.

One could hope, at least.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Oh, geez. Okay, so I think I unintentionally caused a little more angst that I had originally planned, so let me clear some stuff up. I had tried to keep timelines and ages pretty ambiguous, but then I went and put my foot in it and screwed up, so this is me, trying to fix that.**

 **So, Jason is about 18/19 in this. He was 15/16 when he died. When Talia brought him to the Compound, Damian was probably about 7/8, but Jason just saw him as this tiny little kid following him around, so in his mind he sees him as his sweet baby brother that needs looking after and protecting and everything. Tim is 16 in this fic, Damian is 10. Jason did have his year or so of being a crime lord, and then tried to reconcile with the Family for about a year, and then Damian showed up.**

 **I hope that clears some of the confusion up. I didn't mean to make anybody freak out about 10 year old Jason getting blown up or anything. I just hate trying to remember timelines and ages, so I try to work around them as much as possible.**

 **Thank you, and sorry for the confusion. In return, have about a metric ton of angst and feels.**

It was raining again, which wasn't odd for Gotham, but it was decidedly putting a damper on Jason's good mood. The day had been unusually _normal_ for them; Jason and Damian had slept in, had a bit of a food fight over breakfast, read together for a while, sparred and then watched a movie, took a nap sprawled out together on the sofa, and then prepared for patrol.

The night, too, was pretty run of the mill. Petty thefts, a few muggings, one memorable stick up where the guy had tried to pull off the ruse that the finger in his pocket was actually a gun. No big bads, no rogue gallery rearing their ugly heads, just everyday crime that most didn't bother to turn their heads at.

It was getting late, Red Hood and Redbird having exhausted their route for the night and the Hood was just thinking of calling it a night when he heard Nightwing calling for him through the coms, voice breathless and worried.

"Hood? Hood, are you there? Redbird? Come on, one of you answer me!"

Red Hood stood to attention, back ramrod straight as his hand flew to his ear, even if there was no actual need to touch the com to activate it. "'Wing? What's wrong?"

A breathless sigh of relief was all the answer he got for a few tense moments. Red Hood turned to his partner and they exchanged equally confused looks. Hood was starting to get more irritated than worried, though, as he waited for a response that never seemed to come.

"Thank _God_ ," Nightwing finally gasped, his breathing coming in fast, sporadic bursts as if he were running. "I need you to do something for me, Little Wing. Okay? Please, I'm begging you."

The Hood bristled at that because Nightwing never _begged_ , let alone to _him_. _Dick_ , on the other hand, begged all the time, because he was annoying and whiny and usually got his way when he did. That a little bit of Dick was bleeding through into Nightwing was highly alarming.

"I'm not agreeing to anything until I have specifics, 'Wing. Now tell me, what's got you sounding so rattled?" And there was that ridiculous stretch of silence again, like Nightwing wasn't sure just what to say.

"Hood. _Please_ ," he whined again, the terror he was trying so hard to hide seeping into his voice nevertheless. The Hood reached out for Redbird and hooked his hand around his slight shoulder, tugging him towards the edge of the roof.

"Alright, you ass. _Okay_. Just, tell me what's going on. Is someone hurt? Is something going down? Come on, man, _something_ had to have happened."

"Go _home_ , Jason. _Please_." Nightwing hissed, skirting around his question with the plea. That definitely had his mind racing again, worry solidly coating his thoughts. What could be so horrible that Nightwing would ask him to go home instead of help?

Red Hood turned to his partner and gave him a heavy look. "Oracle?" he asked over the coms, ignoring Nightwing's spluttered protests in the background. She came through in seconds, voice strained but professional as always. "Heya, Oracle. Anything big going on tonight? Anything I should _know_ _about_?"

And there was that loaded silence again, but at least she responded quicker than Nightwing had. " _Jason_ ," she said softly, her voice exhausted and reluctant.

And then, instead of giving him the run-around, she told him.

" _Hood_ ," Nightwing said weakly, pleading, but he didn't respond. He glanced down at Redbird, his anger quickly boiling from his stomach through his chest and up into his throat, unstable and volatile.

"Redbird, you need to get back to base. _Now_ ," he said forcefully, barely keeping his composure. His fists were balled up at his sides and he felt his entire body quiver, either in anticipation or horror, he wasn't sure. "Home," he barked out when his tiny shadow hesitated, " _now_!"

Redbird jumped, confused and just a bit frightened, but he held his ground. "Hood, what's going on? I should stay and help, not run off and hide like a child!"

"Do not fight me on this, kid. Go home, right now." When his brother didn't move, Hood whirled on him, screaming in his face. " _Get out of here_ , right now! I won't say it again!"

He flinched back, feeling small beneath the fire of his older brother's anger. He turned away and ran towards the next roof, stopping once he was far enough away to watch the Hood destroy the rooftop, screaming at the top of his lungs before sprinting away towards the other side of town.

Towards Arkham.

Jason wasn't thinking straight. He knew it, the _whole_ _Family_ probably knew it by now, but thinking straight was not a luxury he could afford at the moment. Instead of conscious thought, there was simply a green fire burning around him, covering everything he saw in a haze of madness. He howled and raged as he ran across the city. This would end tonight, one way or another.

He knew _exactly_ what he was going to do to that monster, Batman be damned.

The cackling echoed through the city and all Jason had to do was follow it. His blood boiled at the sound, memories flashing behind his eyes of blood and crowbars and a bomb that he noticed far too late. This was Hell, this was _Hell_ , but if he did nothing else with his life, he knew that he would end this tonight.

He would break the madman's legs, destroy his face with a steel bar, carve him up until he was more blood than flesh. He would taunt him, scream at him, look him in the eye as he set him on fire.

The man he was looking for was waltzing through the streets as if he had a right to stroll around freely like that. Jason wasn't being careful, or sneaky, or even quiet, and the Joker caught sight of him before Jason was ready. He let out a decidedly insane chuckle, deep and loud and empty.

"Red Hood! _Red Hood_! How good it is to see you again! Come here, come, come! Let's _play_ , you and me!"

Jason's body froze at the words he spoke, blood freezing in his veins, heart stopping in his chest. The Joker had always unnerved him, even as a young child when his biggest concern had been staying out of his way while Batman wiped the floor with him. He had grown up in Gotham, he had heard stories and seen the aftermath of the man's madness on more than one occasion.

It had scared him as a child, and it scared him now.

"Oh, _come on_ , Mr. Hood! I haven't gotten to play with anyone in _so long_!" he shouted across the street, goading him, scowling when Jason didn't react. "Fine. Be that way!" he snapped, prancing off in the other direction with a ghastly grin stretched across his face, his mad laugh bouncing along with him. He disappeared into a construction site, the doors of the abandoned building booming shut behind him.

The street was silent again. Jason's brain was white noise, static scrambling his thoughts, until there was one solid idea left.

He had to hurt the Clown. If Batman wouldn't, if _Bruce_ wouldn't, then he would have to do it himself. It was always going to be him, he realized. Bruce was never going to finish it. Bruce had a Code, after all, and Jason always had been good at breaking rules.

Jason felt rooted to the spot. God, this was such a stupid idea. Stupid, _stupid_ idea. But he had to do this, he did. Batman wouldn't, he _never_ would, he was too full of himself, too sure of his own moral code. If Batman, if _Bruce_ wouldn't avenge him then he would just avenge his own damn self. Fuck it. _Fuck it_.

He grabbed his gun, loaded it, and followed the Clown inside the crumbling building. It was dark, too dark to see clearly, but there was a floodlight shining down from the top floor.

It felt like a trap. It felt like _such_ a trap, but he kept going. He needed this. He needed to hurt the Clown, needed to hurt him like he had hurt Jason all those years ago. He would _ruin his life_. He would _kill_ him.

He didn't get very far before something went wrong. Just as he was looking up, trying to pinpoint any sign of movement, something slammed into the back of his head, and he collapsed to the ground.

Jason wasn't answering anyone and Dick just _knew_ he was going to do something stupid. He had tried to get Jason to drop it, to take a night, to _go_ _home_ but Jason had always been more stubborn than anyone gave him credit for.

Dick had been sprinting towards Arkham since Babs had told Jason what was going on. He had no clue where Damian had disappeared off to and Jason wasn't answering and he didn't have time to call the others to help him look for either of them when they were busy looking for the patients that had escaped.

And suddenly there was static in his ear piece. " _Jason_?" he hissed, praying for his brother to answer him. "Jace?"

"Grayson?" a tiny, timid voice spoke, and he recognized it immediately. "Nightwing, I require your assistance. _Now_."

"Oh, no," he groaned. "Kiddo, where are you?"

"I followed Red Hood after he told me to leave. He followed the Joker to an abandoned work site down by the river." His voice was shaky, frightened and exhausted. And then steel entered his tone as he continued. "There's two men here with him. They're screaming at each other."

"Shit," he breathed out, hating this with every fiber of his being. "Okay, kiddo, I need your address and I'll get there as soon as I can." Damian rattled off the address and Dick sprinted, putting on as much speed as he could. "Oracle, did you catch all that?"

"Of course, I did," she grumbled through the coms and that was all the answer he needed.

He was nearly there, the building was in sight, when he heard Damian's sharp intake of breath. "Redbird? Buddy, what happened?"

"They're on the roof. He's tied up. He isn't moving. I think he might be unconscious." The sound of movement through the mike caught Dick's attention and he snapped at him, worried.

"Stay where you are, Rerdbird. I'll be there in a few seconds. Don't you _dare_ go in alone!"

Damian didn't answer and Dick cursed, already knowing that he wouldn't listen but hoping for a miracle, anyway. Dick cursed his stubborn, self-sacrificing brothers and put on a final burst of speed, all the while knowing he wouldn't be fast enough. He was _never_ fast enough when it mattered the most.

Tonight was quickly turning into one of his worst nightmares.

Someone was talking. The words were guttural and indistinguishable, the tone grating and hysterical, slowing and speeding up with every other word. Slowly, _slowly_ the words began to take on meaning.

"…drop you from the roof? I wonder, how many bones can I break with that alone? Or! Or maybe I should stick with the tried and true, right? Everybody loves a classic, just a crowbar and a bomb. What do you think, buddy boy?" the voice snapped suddenly, and Jason flinched back, head swimming and vision not faring much better.

He blinked against the light, seeing a hazy outline that was reaching out towards him, grabbing a fistful of hair in its fingers until his head was craned backwards, eyes locked onto the Joker's painted face.

"Hmm? Quiet on the matter? Well, whatever. Not like we don't have all the time in the world, right?"

Jason groaned when the Joker released his hair, leaning forward until his chin was propped up against his chest. He tried his hardest to blink against the triple vision he had going on, but it wasn't getting much better. Seriously, that must have been _one hard hit_ _to the head_ back there.

"You know," he said, all false bravado as he tried to get the words past his thick, heavy tongue. "When I get out of these stupid ropes, you are _so_ dead." The Joker just laughed, which always seemed to be his go-to response to pretty much anything. He hopped around the room, picking things up and throwing them back down as he continued to prattle on and on. Jason strained against his binds, trying to slip the knot, fray the ropes, _something_.

The knot really was tied horribly, and as he slipped the rope he wondered if perhaps this was all some sort of setup, some joke. Let Jason get free, think he had the upper hand, and then knock him right back down.

The Joker didn't seem to notice the ropes falling to the ground, his back to Jason as he continued to talk to the air. All the ways he was going to hurt Jason again, how he would make it a bit more _permanent_ this time.

"Hey, and who knows? Maybe death'll _stick_ this time!" he crowed ecstatically, and Jason bristled, having heard quite enough. He stood from the chair without a second thought, vision still going wonky and balance just a bit off, but he would be able to fight. He _had_ to. He braced himself, ran at the Clown, and tackled him to the ground. Leaning over the madman, he pushed himself up just enough to pull his fist back and then slammed it into the Joker's face, over and over and over again until he lost count.

The Joker was bleeding, it was _everywhere_ , covering Jason's burst knuckles and the front of his shirt, splattering off onto his jacket. Everywhere, just _everywhere_.

"You'll never touch me again, asshat," he growled, pulling back, his whole body one fritzing live wire when all he got for his trouble was another cackling fit in his face, made that much more grotesque by the blood caking the Clown's face.

"You've thought about this moment for years, haven't you? Do I keep you up at night? Do you _dream_ about me? Have you planned this out, from start to finish? Well, go on," he goaded, voice smarmy and condescending. "Go ahead, big boy. _Wow_ me."

Jason felt frozen overtop the man that had haunted his memories for so many years. His breathing hitched uncomfortably in his chest, lodged somewhere in there and not easily shifted. He shoved the Joker away, wide eyed and suddenly feeling the wrongness of the situation falling over him again. There was something wrong, but what was it?

There was still a dull roar of anger boiling beneath his skin but the way the Joker had spoken about him, like he was so _predictable_ , hurt more than a crowbar to the ribs ever had.

"Come on, buddy boy! I'm _waiting_!" When Jason didn't move, the Joker bared his teeth and spit up at him, face screwed up in a rictus of insane rage. "Come on. I'm waiting. I'm _waiting_ , Mr. Red Hood, sir. I hit you," he hissed, tone suddenly soft after so much shouting, "I carved you up. I hit you with a crowbar. I blew you up. I killed you!" he screamed in Jason's face, and he winced back. There was something he was supposed to remember, what was it? "Now what are you going to do about it?" the Clown snarled like a vicious animal.

Jason couldn't take it anymore. He lunged forward, green fire lighting up his vision, and he grabbed the Joker's collar, dragging him towards the edge of the building until he was dangling over the side of the roof. "Shut up!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "I _have_ dreamed about this, you're right. I planned it and thought about it and wondered if doing it would make me feel any different. If it would make me _feel better_ to see you dead."

"And is it?" he asked with a sing-song voice, batting his eyelashes. "Making you feel better, that is? I mean, you've barely _touched_ me, Mr. Big Bad."

"Shut it!" Jason hissed, shaking the man dangling in free space. Joker just let loose another snicker, glancing over Jason's shoulder with glee.

"Oh. Sorry, kiddo. Looks like you've run out of time. Better luck next murder session!"

And then Jason remembered.

There was a _goon_ here, too, not just the _Joker_.

Before he could even turn to look, a fist was connecting with his face. It didn't knock him out, but it sent him sprawling off center. A gunshot went off, then, and he felt the bullet impact against his thigh. He collapsed forward right onto his face, and then another bullet hit him right in the ankle. There was no way he was running from this, now. While he was down, trying to stem the blood flow, a foot connected with his ribs, then something long and hard joined it in the same spot, and he heard something _crack_.

It was happening again.

Joker was going to beat him, cut him, blow him up. And Jason would never get to reconcile with Bruce, or see Damian grow up, or live the life he had finally started reclaiming for himself.

He rolled onto his side, blood spilling from his mouth from a bad case of internal bleeding. He curled in on himself, trying to make his body into the smallest target possible. It hurt, _God_ , it hurt _so much_. He couldn't get his hands beneath himself long enough to get to his feet, and his guns and knives were all missing.

A moments-long lull occurred and Jason seized his chance, swinging his feet out to attempt to swipe the thug's legs out from beneath him, but the movement was too slow, too sluggish. Ugh, this wasn't going as he planned _at all_. Flashbacks of the night he died were overlaying this moment, causing him to _see_ and _feel_ and _think_ in double.

"Well, now. I think we've played around long enough, don't you? I know how impatient the youth get, these days. Why not skip straight to the _finale_ , right? The finale's always the best part, anyway."

He shoved Jason onto his back and threw a heavy box on top of him. Jason flailed, shoving the box (a bomb, a _bomb_ , not again, _please_ ) away from himself, and tried to drag himself as far away from the ticking sound as he could.

"Have fun, Red Hood! Like I said, hope it _sticks_ this time around!"

And then he was alone. Jason whimpered, wide eyed and frightened as he felt his eyes flood with tears. The bomb was still ticking, on and on and _on_. He knew he wouldn't be able to get to the door, he _knew that_ already, but maybe he could hide behind something to dull the blast. He dragged himself to the corner, tugging an empty storage drum in front of himself and huddling up, using the walls for support.

This was so _stupid_ and he regretted letting his anger and fear and vengeance get the better of him. But there was nothing to do about it now.

So, he waited.

And waited.

The ticking _stopped_.

" _Nightwing_!" Redbird screamed, voice stricken. His brother finally caught up with him, out of breath and heaving, eyes wide and panicked as he took in the scene.

"What's happened?" The boy just turned and pointed towards the other roof, where Jason was being thrown across the floor, the Joker and his hired thug tossing something on top of him before sauntering towards the stairs.

"Come on," Nightwing growled, taking a running jump at the gap between buildings. "And _stay close_ ," he demanded. Redbird didn't argue.

Their feet hit the rooftop and Redbird took the time to throw the ticking bomb over the side of the building, into the construction zone below. Nightwing rushed to Jason's side, finding him blank faced behind an old oil drum, silent and apparently waiting for death.

"Shit, shit, shit," Nightwing said, over and over. He helped Jason wrap his leg a little tighter and then looked him over closer, cringing at the extent of the wounds. It didn't help that Jason's awareness was quickly waning. "Little Wing, hold on for me. Just a few more minutes. We'll get you straight to Alfie, he'll fix you right up."

"Bomb. There's a-a _bomb_ , Dick," Jason gasped, eyes wild and feverish. "Dami, get him out here. _Now_!"

"Hey, hey. It's okay. The bomb's been taken care of. Right now we need to get you home, Jace. You're hurt really bad, buddy."

"No, no, no," Jason denied, eyes unfocused as he shook his head back and forth. "No, no, no."

"Can you stand, Jason?" He shuddered, face paling dramatically as he stared off into space. "Jason? I need you to keep talking to me. We have to get you downstairs somehow. Can you get up?"

"He won't have to," a deep, guttural voice stated in the following silence, and everyone turned to see Batman standing on the roof behind them, scowl on his face but arms outstretched to help. "I brought the car, we just need to get him downstairs."

Dick blanched but turned back to Jason, beaming with the fakest smile he could muster. "Hear that, buddy? B-man is here to help." Dick watched as Batman stepped forward, all business as he hooked a harness up to Jason and then carried him over to the edge of the building, slowly lowering him down as the others watched on in anxious silence.

This was _bad_. This was _so_ bad. So, so, so _bad_.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hi, everybody. Yay, I'm not dead, I promise! I got a new job and a new kitten and they have been taking up all of my time recently. Also, I have to admit I hit a bit of a roadblock with this chapter. It was difficult to figure out just how I wanted to tackle it and I ended up rewriting it about ten times. But then I ended up with 20 pages, so there's that, at least? Please enjoy and let me know what you think!**

Damian was in a haze, letting his body be tugged and pulled behind Nightwing without argument. He wasn't even quite sure how they gotten from the rooftop to the Cave; he just knew that one moment they had been watching Batman lower Red Hood's broken and bleeding body down to the Batmobile, and the next he was pressed against a railing and told to stay.

 _There's blood everywhere_ , Damian noticed distantly, staring blankly at the spots of red that trailed from the car to the medical table on the other end of the Cave. He felt numb. His fingers were tingling unpleasantly. His body was heavy in the worst way possible.

Grayson had wasted no time in changing from his uniform into a pair of tight scrubs and an apron, but once he had been dressed he had hovered unsurely between staying with Damian and rushing to help an older man work on fixing Jason's injuries.

"Dick! Get over here!" Bruce Wayne snapped from beside the older man, who Damian distantly identified as the family's butler, Alfred Pennyworth, who was already stained red up to the elbows. Damian felt his stomach roil as Grayson sent him one last look before sprinting across the room.

Damian stood alone like a green-hued statue for the next ten minutes, wondering idly if he was going to throw up when he heard a bone crack from across the room.

And then there was someone else standing next to him, wrapping him up in their cape and slipping an arm around his slight shoulders. He hadn't realized how cold he had been until he wasn't anymore. Damian turned and saw Tim Drake standing beside him, in uniform but without the mask hiding his eyes.

He looked as worried as Damian felt.

There was still a simmering, ingrained hatred for the older boy brewing away in his heart, but at the moment, Damian allowed himself to sag beneath the weight of his arm and curl into his warmth, burrowing into his side. He was so scared; what was going to happen to his brother? Was he too injured to recover? Would he be permanently affected? He was too frightened to ask what was going on, or to call out and interrupt their life-saving attempts, but he was slowly growing more and more livid.

Why wasn't anyone _talking_?!

"Do you have a cell phone?" Damian croaked, voice hardly more than a whisper. Drake stared at him in silence for a long moment, looking more confused than suspicious as he started rifling through his pockets until he was able to hand over a sleek black cell phone.

"Would you like me to stay with you, while you call whoever-it-is you're calling? Or do you want some privacy?" And damn him, but he didn't even sound pitying or condescending; he sounded as if he actually _cared_. It was getting harder and harder to hold on to that grudge and that realization annoyed him more than anything.

Damian glared at the ground; no, he didn't really want Drake listening in to his conversation. But his warmth and his presence was comforting and he was shaking with fear and shock and adrenaline and everyone else was too busy to help. He swallowed, his throat clicking uncomfortably as he nodded, wrapping his free arm around Drake's waist and squeezing to root him there.

He tapped out the memorized number on Drake's phone and waited. No one answered for the longest time, and Damian was just beginning to worry something was truly wrong when the line finally clicked and he heard her harsh, commanding voice echo through.

"Yes?" she hissed, her voice betraying her exhaustion. But she sounded good, better than good, actually; fierce and demanding and powerful as ever. It made something jagged and aching in his chest release, just a bit.

"Mother?" Damian said, speaking to her behind his hand, hiding his words from any prying ears or eyes. Drake, though, seemed more interested in the impromptu surgery going on across the room. "Jason's hurt. W-We need you here."

This was probably the _worst possible way_ to introduce Damian to his father, and Dick just did not have the time to worry about that right now. Not with Jason bleeding out on the gurney and Alfred elbow deep in Jason's blood trying to staunch the flow and Bruce in full-on pissed off overprotective dad mode trying to micromanage every move they made. Eventually Bruce's anxious backseat driving caused even steady old Alfred to snap, growling at him to _back off, Master Bruce, I mean it_ , before Bruce had finally decided to slink off to the Bat Computer in a huff.

With Bruce out of the way, Dick and Alfred got down to work, falling into an easy give-and-take, Alfred giving orders and Dick taking them. After a few minutes of silence on Alfred's part while he worked on stitching up a nasty cut on Jason's ribcage, Dick glanced up just in time to see Bruce looming over Tim and Damian, his cowl down around his shoulders but his expression definitely more Batman than Bruce Wayne.

Tim seemed to be taking the third-degree fine, face a bit more pale than usual as he glared at Bruce, but Damian looked green beneath the helmet, huddled up against Tim like the arm around his shoulders was the only thing keeping him up.

 _Great_ , Dick sighed, _Bruce is on the warpath_.

 _Definitely_ not the best way to introduce Damian to Bruce.

"Bruce Wayne!" Dick shouted across the Cave, scowling. "You leave them _alone_!"

And Dick didn't wait to see if Bruce listened to him or not, because Alfred was calling for his attention again, asking for a rag with antiseptic. They fell into rhythm again, the give-and-take, focusing on nothing but Jason and the medical assistance he needed to survive. Dick's heart was pounding in his ears as he handed tools to Alfred, put pressure on Jason's wounds, and hoped and prayed that his brother would be just fine.

A few minutes stretched into an hour into half the night until Alfred let out a sigh, gently put his tools down, and took a shaky step back. He wiped his hands on a stained rag, scrubbing at his bloodied skin with an almost single-minded scowl. His eyes ran over Jason's body from head to toe as he frowned, the expression tugging down at all of the lines on his face.

"What exactly happened, Master Dick? None of you have said," he whispered gruffly, his sad eyes wandering from Dick's face and then back down to trace Jason's pale, dirty form.

"The Joker escaped, as I'm sure you heard. I was trying to talk Jason into going home, but you know how stubborn he gets. He got Oracle to tell him what was going on and then he went haring off on his own." He scrubbed his hands across his face and then realized he still had blood on them, and he had just smudged blood all over himself. He lunged for another rag and scrubbed as hard as he could, his voice shaky and desperate when he said, "By the time I tracked him down, he was already on the ground like this and the Joker was gone." Dick ran a shaking hand through Jason's dirty hair, absently twirling the white bangs between his fingers.

Alfred's exasperated sigh was jarring and Dick watched him as the butler turned to look further into the Cave, apparently just noticing the extra bodies waiting on them. "And is that Master Jason's ward? The boy I've heard next to nothing about?" His words were politely accusating but his tone was amused, and his eyes had regained that familiar twinkle once more.

Dick followed Alfred's gaze and saw Damian still sitting on the railing leading down to the vehicles, exactly where Dick had left him hours ago, wrapped up in Tim's cape and Tim's arms.

"Yeah," Dick admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his now-clean hands. With Jason finally stable and definitely surviving, Dick could focus on other things, like his remaining conscious brothers who had to be just as frightened and exhausted as he was. "Sorry about keeping him such a secret. Jason wanted to be the one to introduce him to the family, but, well," he trailed off awkwardly, eyes falling down to Jason's chest, watching it rise and fall with his breaths for a moment before he carried on. Alfred sighed into the pause, but he was also nodding, his face full of understanding. "Why don't we go say hello?"

Bruce was still hovering near the boys, but at least he had trained his laser focus onto something more productive, such as Batgirl's and Oracle's reports for the night. His eyes were glued onto the tablet in his hands and he would bark a new question out every few minutes, but other than that he seemed to be lost in his own mind.

As Alfred and Dick made their way over to the boys, Damian glanced up, springing away from Tim's side to stand on his own feet. Tim had shoved his cowl back, as well, but Damian was still sporting his whole uniform, including the helmet, which Dick had to admit was probably the best way to go about keeping his identity concealed from Bruce and Alfred. Dick had seen old pictures of Bruce, and Damian was an almost exact carbon copy of him.

"How is he? How is Jason?" Damian demanded before they were even within shouting-distance. Tim perked up at the sound of Damian's voice and slid off of the railing to stand beside him, his face tugged down in a worried frown.

"Hey, it's okay," Dick quickly rushed to say, reaching out to tug the two into his arms once they were close enough. He squished them together against his chest and they muttered and complained but settled easily enough. Tim didn't waste any time hooking his left arm around Dick's waist and hiding his face in Dick's neck. Damian, meanwhile, was more hesitant; eventually, he did reach out to grab on to Dick's shirt, fisting up the fabric between his fingers and holding on for dear life. "Hey now, Jay's one tough cookie; he'll be up in no time. You'll see."

Alfred watched the scene with no small amount of pride shining through in his eyes. Dick knew he had always worried about the bonds forged between all of these orphans and vagabonds that seemed to congregate around Bruce Wayne. Dick was sure the older man always worried in the back of his mind if this crisis or the next would be the one to break them apart, shatter their little family to pieces.

This crisis, it seemed, would not be that breaking point.

"Master Jason has been through worse than this in the past. He'll heal nicely, young masters, but in the meantime, I think perhaps we should all retire upstairs. We all need a good meal and some real sleep. Master Bruce, I will require your assistance getting Master Jason upstairs and into his room." And just like that, Alfred had them all moving towards the stairs and the elevator, the gurney with Jason's prone form following along behind them.

 _I fear I am beginning to get too old for this_ , Alfred lamented to himself as he helped Master Bruce heft Master Jason's dead weight from the gurney to the boy's childhood bed. The room was just the same as Jason had left it all those years ago; Alfred hadn't had the heart back then to change a thing, to box up the boy's possessions and act as if he had never been there at all.

"Thank you, Master Bruce," Alfred said, dusting off his hands and breathing just a little heavy. Master Bruce eyed him critically for a moment, worry clouding his dark eyes before he moved on, hooking his fingers around Alfred's elbow and leading him from the room.

"He'll be fine for now, Al. You should get some rest. It's been a long night." Alfred appreciated the concern, but honestly, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without checking in on the other boys, too.

"I will, Master Bruce. But I need to check on a few things first, and then, I promise, I will gladly head to bed." Alfred leveled a no-nonsense glare, the same look he had used on the boy since infancy, and wasn't surprised in the least when Master Bruce sighed and immediately caved, following him down the stairs with a good-natured grumble.

They could hear the boys talking in the kitchen all the way from the stairs, and Alfred only felt marginally guilty for eavesdropping as they made their way closer.

"Buddy, Jason's going to be just fine, I promise. Alfie's the best and I'm sure he'll be keeping an eye on him all night until he wakes up." Alfred groaned to himself; he _hoped_ he wasn't going to be sitting up all night with poor Master Jason. Everyone else might believe he ran on tea and iron will alone, but even _he_ required a good few hours of sleep. Perhaps he could convince one of the boys to stay with him for a few hours?

"I-," a young voice, the voice of Redbird, he recalled, hesitantly spoke, "I called my mother." He sounded reluctant, slightly ashamed, but totally unrepentant. Alfred felt his brows furrowing; why would he sound so hesitant to reveal that he had called his mother? It was only natural, wasn't it, to want to inform one's parent that one had had such a trying night?

But Master Richard _did_ sound surprised. "Okay," he said after a lengthy pause, and Master Bruce and Alfred both paused in the doorway to the kitchen, interested in where this conversation was going. "Is she coming here? Bruce probably won't be too happy about that, but we can work something out."

Alfred's guilt had reached its boiling point and he could take no more; he stepped through the doorway just as the boy was opening his mouth to answer; his mouth audibly clicked shut instead and he fiddled with his fingers, refusing to look up at any of them.

"Why wouldn't I like his mother coming to town?" Master Bruce asked from behind him, suspicion dripping from his words. Alfred sighed again; _ever the master strategist, with the all the tact of a bull in a china shop, at times_. Alfred watched as Master Bruce scrutinized their newest recruit from head to toe.

Alfred matched his gaze and allowed himself to attempt to see the boy through Master Bruce's eyes, just this once. He was small, smaller than a boy his age should probably be, but that seemed to be more due to genetics than neglect, seeing as the boy was obviously stocky and well-muscled. The boy must have been training for many years to be on par with the rest of the Family and able to keep up with Master Jason at such a young age. But with the helmet on, there was not much more Alfred could pick out. And one fact just kept screaming at him, no matter where he looked.

The boy was so _small_ , so _young_!

"No reason!" Master Richard practically shouted, and how that boy had ever lied to them about a thing was beyond Alfred's comprehending; he had no trace of deceit or deception in a single cell of his body. Both Master Timothy and Master Redbird turned to glare at him in unison and Alfred nearly broke composure right then and there. "Apples?" Master Richard asked instead, a very obvious attempt at misdirection but admirable all the same. He shoved a plate of sliced apples into Master Bruce's face and then quickly backtracked, eyes wide and hunted.

Alfred leveled his single most effective glare their way and then stepped further into the kitchen, grabbing a sponge to start mopping up the mess the boys had made with the apples' juices.

"We are going to ignore your disastrous attempts at subterfuge for the moment, Master Richard, and move on to more pressing matters, as it has been an _extremely_ long night for all parties involved." Alfred enjoyed the fact that Master Richard had the good grace to at least look sheepish. "Now. Master Redbird can stay in the room directly across the hall from Master Jason. The sheets are clean and there are fresh linens in the closet. There is a house rule," Alfred warned, peeking over at the young boy perched on their countertop, "that there are to be no uniforms in the house. However, as this is your first night at the Manor, and there are extenuating circumstances, I will overlook it just this once." When Alfred felt that he had the boy's full, wide-eyed attention, he moved on. "There are spare pajamas in the dresser, and no one will enter your room without first asking permission." He let his voice soften, as he knew this must be a confusing, trying time for the poor boy. "You need not keep your helmet on, and you need not fear any of us breaching your privacy."

Master's Richard threw Alfred a grateful look before snatching up both Master Timothy and Master Redbird and yanking them out of the room with a shouted _thanks_ over his shoulder. Alfred watched them leave with a fond smile on his face before he turned back to Master Bruce and the considerable mess the boys had left behind.

"What do you know about the boy, Alfred?" Master Bruce asked, staring at the doorway with narrowed eyes, as if he could find his answers there. Alfred could see exactly where his charge's thoughts were heading and he was going to wholeheartedly throw himself in front of that train before it inadvertently harmed any of the children.

Besides, he knew where this line of questioning was coming from. Master Bruce was attempting to ignore the more emotional issue at hand by focusing on the less important mystery of who Master Jason's ward could possibly be.

Alfred sighed once more. _World's Greatest Detective, indeed_.

"As much as you, no doubt. None of the children have confided in me about the subject," Alfred admitted coldly as he wiped at the counters, letting Master Bruce know just how unimpressed he was with the man's priorities. "However, he seems like a proper young man, from what little I've seen. Master Jason would not put up with anything less, I'm sure."

"Hmm," Master Bruce grumbled, glaring at the wall for a moment before he grumped one more time and turned towards the stairs, stomping up them and out of sight.

Alfred rolled his eyes at the man's dramatics; sometimes he wondered if he was looking after another teenager and not a fully-grown adult. It would no doubt explain the ridiculous amount of time Master Bruce spent brooding on rooftops.

Damian was a mess and Dick felt horrible for him, he _did_ , but he was exhausted and just a bit of a hot mess himself. So around the twentieth time Damian asked if Jason was really going to be alright, Dick had to make the conscious effort to remember that Damian was super close with Jason and was probably out of his mind with worry and fear. Not to mention the kid was only ten. He had probably never seen someone so close to him so severely injured before.

But when Damian bit his lip and hesitantly asked to check on Jason before they went to bed for the night, Dick couldn't help the way his heart melted. The kid was not hesitant, should _never_ be hesitant, and it was jarring to see how much this was affecting him.

Dick reached down and took Damian's hand when they reached the top of the stairs, Tim trailing along silently behind them. He saw Damian gulp painfully at his side when Dick opened the door to Jason's room and they all got a good look at him.

He was pale, far paler than any of them thought healthy, but it was to be expected with the amount of blood he had lost. Dick watched Damian's reaction closely, wondering just what he was seeing when the kid's eyes grew distant and blank, like he was seeing something else in that bed.

After a loaded moment of shock, Damian slipped his hand from Dick's grasp and wandered closer to Jason's bedside. His eyes roved up and down Jason's body, lingering on the white bandages and the bruises already forming on his skin. "And he's going to be okay. You said he's going to be okay," Damian whispered, voice shaky. The words could have been a question but to Dick, they sounded more like a mantra, a reminder to himself.

"He's gonna be a-okay, Dami. It's going to take him a while to bounce back, but you know how stubborn Jason is. I'm sure he'll be up and around soon enough." Dick told him, crouching down beside him and grabbing his hand back.

Damian ignored him, reaching his other hand out to touch Jason's arm. He was warm, he always ran warmer than anyone else, and his pulse was thrumming beneath Damian's fingers. There was no response to the squeeze, though, no twitch or shake or grimace.

Dick let them stand around Jason's unconscious body for a few more minutes before his aching knees had to call it quits. He stood and gently tugged Damian's hand away from Jason's arm, gave Timmy a quick hug around the shoulders, and then led Damian across the hall to his new room while Tim went to his own.

"Alfred said you could use this room. I'll head over to Jason's apartment in a bit and pick up some essentials for you two. Should I bring your cat along, too? I doubt Bruce or Alfred would mind and he can't really stay home by himself, can he?" Dick asked playfully, tugging the blankets back from the bed. Damian slipped the helmet off with a sigh and then went on a search through the dressers for any pajamas that may fit him.

"If you need anything tonight, my room is right next to yours and Tim's is just down the hall. I'll come and get you in the morning, okay? Is there anything else you need, buddy?"

" _No_ ," Damian hissed and growled, but seconds later he already looked repentant. "Thank you, Grayson." Damian held the clothes close to his chest, looking equal parts angry and exhausted.

"Okay," Dick relented, still worried but willing to take Damian's word for his state of mind. He leaned forward and wrapped Damian up in a tight hug before heading out. "Goodnight, kiddo."

Dick had just closed the door to Damian's room behind him when he looked up to catch Bruce hovering at the end of the hallway, just standing in the doorway to his office, watching him. The man had an inscrutable look on his face, eyes sharp and shrewd as he looked Dick over.

They stood in limbo for a few long moments before his features relaxed, his whole posture softening as his shoulders sagged. Dick felt his own body fall slack in response. _Oh, thank God_ , he breathed out, _please no interrogation_.

"Come chat with me, chum?" Bruce rumbled softly and there was no humanly possible way Dick could tell him _no_ , not when he was looking at him like a drowning man. So Dick dutifully shuffled down the hall, body heavy with exhaustion. Dick headed straight for the sofa across from Bruce's desk, collapsing into a heap on the absurdly comfortable cushions. Bruce, in turn, settled down in one of the wing backed chairs across from him.

Bruce had never been one for silence when there were things he could be asking instead, so Dick didn't have to wait long for the questions to begin. "Dick," he started, face hard but sincere.

Dick groaned before he could even get another word out. "Please, don't," he whined, running his hands over his exhausted face. "Jason can fill you in on whatever you want to know, but none of that is my call. He wanted to be there to introduce you two and, trust me, you'll definitely understand why once you know."

"Hmm," Bruce growled suspiciously, not at all pleased, but pressed on. "What _can_ you tell me about the boy, then? I was watching him tonight; he and Jason must be very close."

Dick couldn't help the goofy grin stretched across his face. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, he's a pretty good kid. Brings the best out in Jay, I have to tell you. Poor guy was having a real bad day a few weeks ago, and he actually called me for help. Not for himself, of course, but so I could look out for the kid while he couldn't." His sappy smile was sickening even to himself. "You'll like him, I'm sure, once no one is freaking out about injured family members. He's got a mouth on him and he likes to run it most of the time, but as long as you disregard at least 50% of everything he says, he's fairly easy to get along with."

"He seems very well trained. Where did he learn to fight?" Bruce had to know it could be a loaded question, most likely _was_ , but he had asked anyway. Dick hesitated and decided a half-truth wouldn't give Bruce too much to chew on.

"Yeah. He's been training since he was really little. Jason said he was taught to kill first, ask questions never. Jay's been trying to show him ways to incapacitate rather than kill the bad guys. From what I've heard, he's really reigned himself in."

"And his mother?" Bruce launched at him, barely waiting for Dick to catch his breath. "You said I might not like her being here. Do I know her, or at least, know _of_ her?"

Dick looked physically pained at the question. "B, I told you. Wait for Jason to clue you in on all of this. He doesn't even know the whole story, not really, but neither does the kid. Just, I know it's _hard_ but can you at least _try_ to be patient?"

"Fine," Bruce growled, obviously only backing off because Dick knew he looked about two seconds from passing out.

Dick groaned, enjoyed the comfort of the sofa for another blissful moment, before admitting to himself that if he didn't get up soon, he would probably pass out right there, and dammit but Damian and Jason were counting on him.

"Ugh," Dick moaned as he sat up again and ignored Bruce's questioning stare. "I've got to go. I promised I would pick up some things for Jay and the kid. I'll be back soon." And with that, Dick disappeared out of the office and Bruce turned back to his work at the desk, glaring at reports and wholeheartedly _not_ thinking of the little boy sleeping down the hall.

Light was shining on his face, and that more than anything else was the thing that shook him awake. He glanced at the bedside table and found the clock resting there, surprised to find that it was already mid-morning. With the high emotions of the night before, he hadn't thought he would get much sleep at all.

He laid in bed for a few more minutes, trying to pool together the will to stand and start the day. He had to remind himself what was waiting for him across the hall.

Jason was _hurt_. Damian was in his father's house, under strange, confusing circumstances. His father had no clue who he was and Damian had to admit, at least to himself, that he was frightened to introduce himself without his brother there as a buffer. One shining star for the day was that his mother had promised to arrive by early afternoon, at the latest, so he wouldn't be alone for long.

A knock at his door had him springing from the bed, eyes wide as he hid behind the bedroom door. That butler, the old man from the night before, had promised that no one would bother him without an announcement. So what was this?

"Hey, kiddo. It's just me. I brought some clothes and other odds-and-ends for you. Also got a little buddy here who misses you like crazy." Damian didn't hesitate, reaching out to swing the door open, taking pains to keep himself hidden all the while. Grayson stepped inside and let the door slide shut behind himself, turning to find Damian standing there behind him.

"Hey. How'd you sleep?" he asked, setting down the black cat that had rapidly grown up over the last week or so. The poor thing was still nameless, as he and Jason couldn't settle on a single name they both approved of.

Damian disregarded Grayson for the moment in order to pet his cat, crouched down on the floor to get a better look at him. "I slept fine, Grayson. Mother said that she should be here sometime this afternoon." He turned so he could look up at Grayson, one hand still resting on the cat's back. "Has Jason woken up yet?" He knew he sounded hopeful, the tone painful even to his own ears, but Grayson seemed to understand, smiling down at him and dropping his bag of odds-and-ends beside him.

"He woke up for a few minutes earlier this morning. Alfred said he was asking about you. He seemed a little surprised to be in his old bedroom, and was pretty lucid, so hopefully he'll wake up again soon."

"Good," Damian said, nodding as he stood, grabbing the bag as he went. "I want to see him." Damian left no room for argument as he moved toward the bed to start getting dressed for the day. Thankfully Grayson had remembered to grab one of his favorite sweatshirts, and Damian wasted no time sliding it on over his head, throwing the hood up over his head. Just to be safe, he stuck the domino mask on too, hoping it was enough of a deterrent that his father wouldn't place him immediately if he _did_ happen to see his face.

Grayson led him across the hall once he was ready and opened the door for him. His cat followed a step behind him before rushing into the room, hopping up on to Jason's bed without a second thought, curling up comfortably at his feet.

"I'm going to stay here with him until he wakes up," Damian said, tugging the desk chair over to his bedside and settling himself down comfortably. He tugged the sketchpad and a fresh pencil from his bag and idly doodled, watching Grayson hover at the edge of his vision. The older man hesitated in the doorway for a while, as if weighting his options, before he eventually sighed and stepped back out of the room.

They were left in peace together for the next hour or so, but then there was a soft rap at the door. Damian turned to glare in that direction and found the butler standing there, holding a tray of food and drinks in his hands. "Hello, Master Redbird. Master Richard said that you were awake, and I thought you might be hungry." He set the tray down on the desk before moving towards Jason, resting a hand on his forehead before reaching under the sheets to check on his bandages.

Damian hesitated, but it didn't take long before his curiosity got the better of him.

"He is going to recover, correct? Grayson keeps assuring me, but he doesn't know anything about wounds or medicine." Damian scoffed offhandedly but he was biting his lip and wringing his hands. He hoped the elderly butler couldn't tell he was too worried.

He turned slowly toward Damian with soft eyes and nodded his wizened head. "Of course he will, young sir. Master Jason will bounce back from this, just as he has bounced back from many other injuries in the past. But he's going to require your assistance for the next few days, at least. He'll be very sore and no doubt attempt to overdo things. You know how he gets. We will all need to keep a close eye on him to make sure he goes slow. Can I count on you to be my eyes and ears when I am not here?"

Damian sat up straighter, rolling his eyes behind his mask. "I am not a child. I understand that he is hurt, but I do not require some arbitrary job to feel as if I am doing something to aid in his recovery. I do not need to be _coddled_ ," he grumbled. He held the strong façade well for the next few moments, but once the butler's eyes turned away, he felt his whole body sag against the chair.

"But yes, I promise to keep an eye on him. He's my brother. I don't want to see him hurt himself," he mumbled awkwardly at the old man's back. The man didn't seem to react for a moment, his hands freezing over his brother's body, but then they were moving fluidly again as if nothing had happened.

"Thank you, young sir. I greatly appreciate it." He turned to run a hand through Jason's shaggy hair before sighing sadly. The cat chose that moment to make himself known, and padded across the bed towards the old man, rubbing up against his outstretched hand eagerly. "Ah! And who might this be?"

Damian brightened considerably. "That's our cat. I found him in an alley with Grayson about a month ago. We haven't chosen a name for him because Jason keeps suggesting idiotic names yet continues to disregard my ideas because he says they're too long." He grumbled good-naturedly before standing, coming to rest beside the seated butler. The cat flopped over when he saw Damian, purring loudly at all the attention.

The man smiled and Damian felt a weight in his chest slowly lift; he knew that this man was important to Jason and the others, and was proud that he had been able to cheer him, at least for a moment. "And do you prefer the companionship of animals over humans?" he asked with a knowing smile, carefully nudging Damian in the shoulder.

Damian sighed but returned the smile with a smirk of his own. "I do. Animals are far better company than humans, by far. Much _quieter_ , at least."

The butler laughed, deep and true and clearly amused. "Master Jason had a similar opinion as a boy. He never could convince Master Bruce to allow him to get a dog, though, poor boy." Damian smiled, sweet and sad, right back as his eyes fell back onto Jason. "You know," the butler said softly, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Pleasure to meet you, Master Redbird." He held his hand out for Damian to shake and Damian didn't even hesitate.

"I know who you are," Damian replied cockily, glancing back down at Jason as he said more softly than before, "He likes to tell stories. You've come up quite a lot."

The butler, Pennyworth, let out a pleased, surprised chuckle. "I have no doubt. Now, I'm afraid I have to return back to the Cave for a bit. When Master Jason wakes up, please let me know so I can take another look at him. He wasn't awake for very long this morning." Damian nodded and settled back down, slipping his art supplies back into his lap, and waited patiently for Jason to wake.

His head was pounding. His thoughts were foggy and disjointed, but there was something important, something he knew he had forgotten about, something he was supposed to be doing. He cracked his eyes open, just enough to peek around the room, and saw Damian wrapped up in a thick blanket in a chair next to his bed.

Crap, did he have another bout of Pit Madness?

Slowly, the memories began to trickle back in. The Joker. The bomb. The crowbar.

The rage that overcame him made him ignore his pain long enough to surge up off of the bed, struggling with the sheets covering him. He was screaming and cursing before he saw Damian at his side again, shoving him back into the bed, a severe scowl dragging his lips down.

"Get back into bed!" he commanded, shoving Jason down onto the mattress. "We are at Bruce Wayne's manor. You are in your childhood bedroom. Grayson, Drake, Wayne, and Pennyworth are all downstairs. They've spent the night and most of the morning tracking down the Joker. Batgirl dropped by earlier but stated she had lost his trail overnight. Oracle called, too, and said she is searching as well. Eat this," he demanded, shoving a sandwich in Jason's face, a complete turnaround from the rest of the information dump.

Jason took the sandwich in a daze, mulishly nibbling on it when the kid just glared. "Stay here!" he said authoritatively before he hopped up, sprinting from the room and down the hall.

Jason watched him go in shock but figured he had been told to alert someone when he woke up. He settled back against his mountains of pillows (damn you, Dick!) and waited.

When the door swung open, he had to admit he had been expecting Alfred or Dick. Instead, Bruce stood in his doorway. His dark gaze rolled over Jason's prone form carefully before he made to step forward, settling on Damian's seat without a second thought.

"How are you feeling, J?" he asked, like this was any other day.

Jason squirmed, that everlasting rage and fear and exhaustion that he always felt in Bruce's presence rearing its ugly head, but he just sagged back against the pillows, scowling. "Fine," he muttered, but that wasn't quite true, either. He was sore and bleeding and pretty sure he may have a broken bone or two. Realistically, though, he knew it could have been so much worse. At least he wouldn't be down for long, maybe a week or two at most. He had always healed quickly, and after his dip in a Lazarus Pit he found he healed even quicker nowadays. "I'll be fine," he amended sheepishly.

Bruce looked Jason over critically before he crossed his arms over his chest, giving him his most potent Dad Glare. It was chock full of disappointment and severity, a layer of no-nonsense wrapped around it, all together creating one horrifying look. It was very effective. "It seems you and I have some things to talk about, don't we?" he said softly, hopefully.

Bruce posed it as a question but Jason knew better, of course he did. Bruce had cottoned on that there was something going on beneath his nose and was willing to worry away at it until Jason spilled everything.

"I know, B. Just. Let Alfie take a look at me, I know he wants to, and then I'll sit down with you and the kid and we'll all talk this over like real grown-ups."

Alfred was hovering in the doorway, the kid right behind him, looking pale and awkward and decidedly more nervous than he was earlier. Jason tried to give him a comforting smile but he knew it had to look more like a grimace.

"Hey, buddy. Why don't you go feed your cat while Al checks me over and then you can come right back, I promise." The kid scowled but came in the room just enough to grab his cat, skirting cautiously around Bruce's legs. Jason watched him leave with a fond twinkle to his eyes and then settled back again, wincing at the movement.

"Okay. I'm going to lay this on you now, before he gets back," Jason revealed when Alfred started tugging at his bandages. "His name is Damian. He's ten years old. And his mom's name is Talia al'Ghul."

And he knew that that was enough information for Bruce to figure the mystery out. Bruce was definitely smart enough to do the math and realize that the kid was old enough to correlate with that fling he had had with Talia in the desert eleven years ago.

"Please don't freak out," Jason pleaded weakly, glancing anxiously between Alfred and Bruce.

Alfred's hands had stilled on Jason's chest, shocked motionless while he turned to gauge Bruce's reaction. Bruce, for his part, looked shocked, confused, and worried.

"You're freaking out! I can see it in your eyes. Stop freaking out!" Jason demanded, throwing a pillow right into Bruce's face. Bruce caught it reflexively but it hadn't helped; his eyes were still faraway, a calculating glint in his gaze. "Yes, he's your kid. Talia asked me to look after him when it got too dangerous for him at the Compound. Ra's is getting more unhinged in his old age, I guess."

"He called you his brother, when I spoke with him earlier," Alfred admitted quietly, hands finally moving again, shock apparently overcome. Jason smiled gratefully at the old man.

"Yeah. He's real attached. I've known him since he was little. Talia used to tell him bedtime stories of all of Batman's antics. She wanted him to know about the rest of his family, and what he was probably going to get himself into once he was older."

"Dick said that he was raised to kill people." Bruce's voice was empty and broken, like it physically pained him to speak.

"Well, _yeah_. I mean, he was raised with the League. Of course he learned how to be an assassin." Jason was confused with the way Bruce's brain was working, and honestly didn't understand how this was what Bruce was hung up on. "Talia's his _mom_ , man."

"You _knew_ about him, _knew_ who he was, and didn't _tell me_ after all this time." Bruce's voice was now cold and jagged and Jason was beginning to honestly fear for his life.

"Bruce. You gotta understand. Talia asked me to keep quiet. She was just protecting him in the best way she knew how," Jason argued, but Bruce obviously wasn't listening anymore. His face was quickly contorting with the force of his anger and rage.

"You _knew_!" he hissed, like he couldn't believe Jason had sunk so low. "You knew I had a child with her, that he was being raised like that, and yet you said _nothing_! Was becoming a killer, a murderer really preferable to being here, with me? Is that what you really think?"

" _Yes_!" Jason screamed, pushing himself up so he could glare at Bruce on even ground. God, but he was grateful for that final growth spurt that had given him an extra two inches on the old man. "Because neither me or Talia wanted to see him become another dead Robin! First me, then Stephanie. No, I wasn't going to let Damian die like that!"

Bruce fell preternaturally still beneath Jason's logic. And then, like a whirlwind of fury, he reared back and punched Jason right in the cheekbone. Jason crumpled back onto the bed, a hand to his cheek. He turned just enough to spit a wad of blood at Bruce's patented leather loafers. Bruce was standing now, posturing over Jason's bed, fists at his sides, face red as he looked about two seconds from going on.

And then there was an ice cold voice calling to them from the doorway. " _Enough_ , Beloved. That is more than enough." Jason turned, wide hopeful eyes landing on Talia al'Ghul in all her glory, her face set in a rictus of righteous motherly fury as she glared at Bruce. "I hope you don't mind, but I let myself in," she hissed, her teeth flashing in warning when Bruce made to move towards her. " _Enough_. Just, enough. We have much to discuss, you imbecile. _Now_."

And Bruce didn't look happy about it, glancing between Jason and Alfred and back to Talia before he set his shoulders and silently followed her out of the room, slamming the door shut behind himself.

Alfred stared dumbly at the door for a moment before turning back to Jason, who looked just as shocked.

"Well," Jason drawled slowly, wincing when the skin around his cheek pulled as he spoke, "arguably, that could have gone better."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: So, long time no see! Sorry it took so long to update. I just started my first full time job and it's** ** _so_** **draining, I just haven't found the time to write much. This chapter has been sitting finished on my computer for two weeks now though and I only just now had time to publish it. Ugh. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think of it!**

The al Ghuls were an ancient family, prominent and long-lived and powerful in the underworld niche that they had made for themselves in the shady business of assassin work. They had survived coups and persecution and assassination attempts throughout the centuries by staying true to the three main principles of their family, passed down from generation to generation for more than three millennia.

The first principle was something each child born into the family learned from a very young age; you may not be able to control everything around you, but you _can_ control yourself and your emotions and refuse to allow them to be your weakness.

The second principle was something that each member of the family knew well, too; the amassment of wealth and power is paramount to the survival of the family.

And the third principle was that even if you despise each other, even if you tear at each other's throats and scheme to kill them, in the end, family is all you truly have. You may not trust them or like them, but they will remain loyal in times of trouble where others will gladly stab you in the back.

Talia had to admit that she may have been slightly lax in the raising of her son, allowing her quest for power and recognition of her own, separate from her father's legacy, to take precedence before her own child. Instead of being a source of love and care, she had been a distant onlooker, allowing him to be trained as her father had seen fit. As such, her boy had been put through Hell as a young child, forced to prove himself before he was ready.

One good thing she had to admit to, however, was that he had been trained in the principles of their family, just as thoroughly he had been taught to kill a man or walk silently or fight someone four times his size.

Because of this, Talia had to admit that she had never truly heard her child's voice filled with much emotion. As such, she felt her heart stutter in her chest when she answered her phone only to hear her child so audibly shaken and distraught, voice choked with tears. He sniffled pathetically when he told her about Jason, how the Joker had _taken_ him, _hurt_ him once more.

With promises of her imminent arrival, she set her phone down in a daze, mind racing through the possibilities. Her blood was boiling in her veins, body tense and shoulders hunched as she attempted to calm down enough to plan her next step.

After a few minutes in which she allowed her fury to destroy half of the room, Talia stood in the midst of the wreckage with a clear head, her fury something tangible and bubbling that she shoved far to the back of her mind for the moment, left to fester while she worked with cool detachment. Talia alerted her second in command to assume her duties before stalking off to board the first available flight to America. In her impatience, nothing was fast enough, and the commercial airline she was forced to use only served to fray her thin temper just that much more.

Half a day later, Talia al Ghul was finally touching down in Gotham City. She spent _another_ exhausting hour waiting in line and then arguing with the man behind the desk at the car rental agency before she was finally on the road, more than ready to murder a clown and slap her Beloved upside the head for being so ridiculously _dense_.

At this point, she wasn't even surprised to find that the front door to the Manor was unlocked. Without bothering to knock or wait on the elderly butler to invite her in, Talia opened the door and let herself in. She could hear voices echoing down to her from the kitchen but she ignored them, taking to the stairs unimpeded.

Once she reached the landing, she followed the sound of voices, her Jason's soft, hesitant words overlapped by her Beloved's booming anger. When she opened the door to Jason's room, she found her stupid idiotic _bullheaded_ Bruce Wayne looming over the child of her heart with bleeding knuckles and a scowl marring his beautiful face. Jason spat a wad of blood at Bruce's feet, his eyes showing his betrayal and hurt but also his resignation, as if he hadn't expected anything less, and her heart _screamed_ , all of her pent-up fury and fear and anger spilling forth from the hole she had thrown it in.

She didn't bother yelling, nor did she scream or cry or demand answers right then and there like she so desperately wished to. No, instead she eyed Bruce with cool indifference and a slow-beating scorn, saving all of her fire and rage for the private conversation she planned to have with Bruce _goddamn_ Wayne.

She stood framed in the doorway, her eyes dancing dangerously. He took her in and then turned back towards Jason, his eyes wide as if he had only just realized what he had done. Regret was quickly overtaking the anger in his dark eyes and Talia scowled, dragging him from the room behind her. He followed her meekly without a word, hesitating at the door to the study, glancing back down the hall at Jason's closed door as if he wished he could take back the last ten minutes.

"Inside, Bruce Wayne. _Now_." Her tone brooked no argument and he sighed, following her into the study, letting the door slide closed behind him. He hesitated for a moment before striding forward to stand before the window, putting as much space between them as he could while simultaneously avoiding her gaze.

Talia remained by the door, jaw clenched and body tense, one hand pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. Neither of them seemed to know where to begin, too much hovering between them unsaid.

"I am _furious_ with you," Talia finally exploded, her hand flying forward to wave viciously at the air between them, her voice devoid of emotion or tone, simply too exhausted to try any longer. "What have you _done_ , Bruce?" she hissed, steadily making her way across the room towards him, crowding in on his space until he was pressed right up against the wall, facing her awkwardly, trying to keep his gaze on anything but her. "You giant bumbling oaf, what have you _done_?"

" _Me_?" Bruce finally hissed back, incredulous and angry and shocked as he pulled away from her, finally looking at her face just so he could scowl right back at her. "And what about what _you've_ done? You," he shook his head and started again, " _we_ have a child together, and in all these years you never _once_ breathed a _word_ of him to me. You just hid him away, taught him to kill. You knew I wouldn't approve of the way he was raised. You know how I feel about murderers."

Talia's spine snapped straight and she threw her shoulders back, the silence stretching out between them for a long moment before she scowled at him, cold and dangerous. "And _yet_ ," she snapped, "at one point you professed that you loved me, a _murderer_. You said you did not care about my past, as long as I worked to do better, to _be_ better in the future. You would put that kind of faith in _me_ , but not in your own child? A boy you know absolutely nothing about?" This man left her writhing in frustration, his logic and emotions never agreeing on any one thing.

Bruce scowled back at her, his arguments failing him beneath the weight of her words.

"And what exactly was that, that I walked in on?" she demanded, moving on. "Jason is already injured! Why in the world would you harm him further? What is _wrong_ with you?"

Bruce grumbled in anger, stepping forward and crowding up against Talia himself. "Jason _knew_ ," Bruce said, his deep growl more Batman than Bruce Wayne. "He knew about Damian and yet he didn't tell me. He _knows_ me!" Bruce howled, arms thrown to the side in frustration. "He knows me, he knows how I would have felt about all of this."

"Yes, he does know you," Talia agreed coolly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, pressing up against him, refusing to be cowed by his sheer size. "But it isn't his fault he didn't tell you. When Damian came to stay with him, I asked Jason not to tell you the truth. I didn't want to put that pressure on him, and he was worried, anyway. He had his own concerns about the situation but in the end, he did as I asked." Bruce opened his mouth, ready to argue with her further, but Talia brutally cut him off. "Neither I nor Jason wanted to see another little Robin following Batman into danger only to wind up _dead_ , Bruce," she stated bluntly, Bruce's face swiftly draining of color as he stumbled backwards.

Bruce fell silent, looking more surprised than angry as he visibly began to calm down. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly before he finally spoke again, voice shaken and filled with horror. "What?" he whispered, shaken and confused. "I wouldn't have made him do a _damn_ _thing_. I would be _lucky_ to have a child that wanted nothing to do with this life."

"Yes, you would. However, Damian was raised to defend himself and the people around him. He would not have been content to sit by while you and the rest of your family disappeared every night. He would not have been able to live with himself, and you know it." Talia's face slowly softened, her body relaxing as she spoke fondly of her son. "He has said often, ever since her was little, that he would one day fight at your side. At least with Jason, I knew he would be as safe as he could realistically be."

After a moment of loaded silence between them, Talia sighed, moving to sit down on the sofa across the room, leaning back in something as close to a slouch as she ever got. She rested her hand on her forehead, shaking her head in resignation.

For whatever reason, Bruce began to move forward, whether to comfort her or reprimand her, she couldn't say for sure. Talia growled, though, stopping him in his tracks as she sliced her hand through the air once more, raising her head to glare at the wall just so she wouldn't have to look at his stupid, wounded face.

" _No_. You will not touch me. You will not touch Jason. I don't care that you weren't thinking or that you were angry. You will not come near him or Damian. I am taking Jason and I am taking Damian and we are _leaving_."

She stood abruptly, storming from the study, and left Bruce staring after her, ignoring his pathetically lost face as she left.

He looked as young and wounded as he had the summer they spent together. His expression remnant of something that had once made her feel something other than hate and ambition and fear.

She couldn't seem to find it within herself to care this time, though, or to scrounge up an ounce of pity for him and his sad face.

Not this time.

Damian had been sharing a surprisingly civil conversation with Grayson and Drake in the kitchen when he had heard the front door snap open. Damian, having been expecting his mother's arrival, ran out of the room to catch up with her but was too slow. He saw the end of her coat at the top of the staircase and followed after her, freezing when he heard her icy voice coming from Jason's room. He hid behind a wind in the hall, reveling in the sound of his mother's furious voice, an odd thing to miss, he knew, but it was true.

When the door to the study clicked shut behind his mother and father, Damian ran down to Jason's room, finding his brother and Pennyworth still there, both looking shocked as they stared at the doorway. Jason's white teeth were inexplicably covered in bright red and Pennyworth reached out to dab at his ward's mouth, only to have Jason gently push him away, a careful smile stretched across his face even as he winced.

"What happened?" Damian asked breathlessly, a horrific picture already forming in his mind, the raised voices and his mother's palpable anger slotting into place. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he looked between the butler and his brother, catching sight of the fresh blood splattered across the floor and easily putting two and two together.

"Damian, I'm fine," Jason said, smirking with false cheer and fooling absolutely no one. "Bruce and I just had a bit of a disagreement. He, uh," Jason hesitated, taking a moment to tongue at a possibly-loose tooth before shrugging it off and tuning back into the conversation, "he knows who you are. Wasn't too thrilled that I hadn't told him sooner, though." Jason winced again when he prodded at his cheek and felt a sharp jab of pain but flashed Damian a quick grin all the same.

His blood froze in his veins and Damian scowled, body tense and furious. His brother's explanation was proof enough for Damian to instantly despise his father and all he said he stood for. The man from his mother's stories, the man that wanted nothing more than to keep his city safe, could not possibly be the same man that had just injured his already miserable son, just for keeping secrets from him.

"We're leaving," Damian declared without a second thought, already moving forward to shove Jason's odds and ends back into the backpack Grayson had brought them earlier in the day. "We will not impose on Bruce Wayne's questionable hospitality a moment longer. As soon as Mother is finished speaking with him, we'll be ready to go." Damian kept his back to the others as he outlined their plan, shoulders hunched up around his ears as he worked stiffly. He knew Jason, if not Pennyworth, would be worried if they could only see his face; he felt tears threatening to fall and his throat was quickly closing up.

This was _not_ how he thought he would meet his father.

Finished, Damian threw the packed backpack at Jason's head before sprawling down next to him on the bed, crossing his arms and scowling at the wall. Jason sighed, unsure how to fix the situation and, honestly, a little tired that he always had to clean up Bruce's messes like this. He looked up, trading an awkward look with Pennyworth before throwing his hands up and settling back to wait.

They didn't have long to wait: Talia reappeared a few minutes later, face hard as she scowled. Her blazing eyes softened just a smidge when she turned away from the hall to look down at her boys huddled there together on the bed.

"Jason," she said softly, a tight smile stretched across her exhausted face. She took a few steps forward, coming to stand just beside the bed. "Oh, look at you, my poor boy." She rested her open hand on his reddened cheek and Jason let himself lean into it gratefully for just a moment before forcing himself to move on.

"Talia, we can't leave. Not like this," he argued, already knowing this was a losing battle but having to at least _try_. "Sure, Bruce screwed up, but so did we. This whole thing could have been handled better."

"Perhaps," Pennyworth interjected, face sour but resigned, "it would be best for everyone to have some time away from each other." He kept his voice quiet but the reluctance was hard to miss. "Master Bruce will require some time to process this new information before he can think about the way he has acted. I believe we would all be better off letting him calm down before attempting any kind of confrontation."

"Sounds like a plan, Alfie, but I don't think I can get anywhere by myself right now," Jason admitted grudgingly.

"We can help with that," Grayson said from the doorway, his face scarlet with indignation but voice tinged with resignation, as well. "We heard what happened. We'll help you into Talia's car. Do you have somewhere to stay in the city?" Grayson asked Talia, no sign of distrust or suspicion marring his words. Everyone knew he had never liked her much, but they also knew he understood that she was important to Jason and Damian. She had helped Jason through a difficult time in his life and she was Damian's mother.

She couldn't possibly be _that_ bad.

"I have a hotel room rented in the city for the week. Bruce will have that long to pull his head from his ass before we'll be heading back to my father's Compound." Talia wrapped her arm around Jason's shoulders and easily hauled him to his feet, Grayson rushing forward to take Jason's other side.

Drake hovered beside Damian, the kid clutching Jason's backpack with an awkwardly conflicted look on his face now that he was actually faced with a decision. Grayson, Talia, and Jason hobbled out into the hall and down the stairs, Drake and Pennyworth both with supportive hands on Damian's shoulders as his cat pranced after them.

Not one person turned to look back down the hall to see Bruce Wayne skulking in the doorway to the study, staring after them with a blank look and pained eyes.

"Ow, ow, fuckity ow," Jason whined, stretched out in the back of Talia's rented car. The road was bumpy and every pothole they hit jarred another one of his injuries, sending a shockwave of pain lancing through him. "Why are the roads so shitty here? Fuck, doesn't anybody pay _taxes_ in this city?" he groaned.

"Language, brother," Damian chided, but he looked more amused than annoyed as he twisted to smirk at Jason over his shoulder from the front seat.

"I never should have left you two alone with him," Talia fumed from the driver's seat, white knuckling the steering wheel as she glared at the road. Her eyes were distant and furious, bright but so very dark.

Jason hauled himself up as much as he could, worried and exhausted as he was. "Tal, that wasn't your fault. Bruce goes explosive when he's mad, everyone knows that. He just has to cool down and then everything will be peaches and cream again, just like always." He couldn't help it if he sounded just a little bitter about it, because he was.

"He should never have hurt you like that, especially with your injuries. He is a self-centered, hot-headed _imbecile_ and I cannot even stand to _think_ about him at the moment in fear I will do something rash."

Jason smiled but shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Talia, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm okay. I'm used to being the outlet for Bruce's little hissy fits."

Talia slammed her open palms against the steering wheel, furious at this entire situation. "You shouldn't _have_ to be, though! He is your father. He is the father of my child. He should _appreciate_ that, _cherish_ his children. This is unacceptable behavior, and I cannot believe Pennyworth has allowed Bruce to act this way in the past, as if his moods should be appeased."

"The real world doesn't always work out in the best ways, Talia. I'm sorry, I know how much faith you have in Bruce being a good man."

Talia scoffed in derision and violently threw the car into park. "We're here. Damian, grab the bags. Here is the key to the room. I'll help Jason up to the elevator if you'll get the doors." Damian happily plucked the key from his mother's hand and raced ahead with their meager supplies, impatiently holding the door open for them.

Jason lurched from the back of the car, scowling and holding his side as he nearly tumbled from the back. Talia easily caught him, her strong arms wrapping around his shoulders and hoisting him up.

"This room better have a hella good mattress and hot water and at least, like, three water jets and take out from that awesome Chinese place downtown," Jason grumbled under his breath as he shuffled along beside Talia. She just rolled her eyes and tightened her grip, helping him drag himself up the steps to the lobby. Damian raced around them to get the elevator and stood, tapping his foot as he waited for the doors to slide open.

When they finally made it to the room, Jason could have kissed Talia. It was a large and clean room in one of the more high-end hotels in Gotham, thankfully. She let him collapse right onto the bed instead of insisting he clean up, and he knew that was a struggle for her, as he realized he had to smell horrible by now, still half-covered in blood and dirt from the night before.

Damian wasted no time, crawling up beside him on the bed but keeping his distance, sitting upright beside him and staring at the doorway to the balcony where Talia had disappeared with her cell phone moments after getting Jason situated. The kid was being strangely quiet and Jason was starting to really worry.

"Baby bat, what's going on in that head of yours?" Damian turned to look at him, biting his lip and shuffling uncomfortably.

"Truthfully," Damian said softly, "I thought Father would be… different," Damian whispered, staring at his hands in his lap. "You know, Mother told me stories about him. She always said that he was strong willed and heroic. That he always tried to do the right thing. That he saves people."

"He does, Dami. He saves a lot of people. He just… he doesn't like being lied to and he doesn't like not knowing everything. He either lashes out or gives you the silent treatment when he's mad. You get used to it eventually."

"I suppose I was just expecting something… more." Damian flashed Jason a pained smile and Jason sighed.

"Your father is many things, Damian," Talia said from the doorway, clutching her phone in her hand. "But none of this should have happened, and I take responsibility for it all."

"It's not your fault that Bruce is a dick, Talia," Jason groaned, rolling onto his side and burying his face in the throw pillow behind him. "Just give him a few days to calm down. It'll be fine."

"It will not be _fine_ ," Talia hissed fervently, eyes flashing dangerously. She took a deep calming breath, her eyes falling closed for a few moments as she breathed through her fury. She turned back to the boys and smiled sharply, moving on. "Now, what was that you said about Chinese food?"


	12. Chapter 12

The morning after The Confrontation, Bruce woke to darkness, his blinds still pulled down from the night before. He rolled to the side and saw the time, blinking accusingly at him from the bedside, reading 2:23 PM. He fumbled out of bed, momentarily panicked; he had a meeting at WE at 3:00 PM and still hadn't eaten or showered.

He rushed through his morning ablutions, haphazardly running a razor over his cheeks and chin, scrubbing down his body with a soapy washcloth, and throwing on the first suit he grabbed from the closet. As he stumbled down the stairs, attempting to simultaneously text Tim about the meeting and tie his tie, he could hear Alfred in the kitchen, making far more noise than he was prone to.

Pausing outside the door to the kitchen, Bruce stopped, hesitant to enter and face the full brunt of Alfred's anger. After everyone had stormed out of the mansion the night before, the atmosphere had become even more tense and uncomfortable between the two of them. Bruce was sure that one night's sleep had not done Alfred's mood any good.

Alfred was the king of the silent treatment, wielding judgmental looks and stony professionalism with lethal force, only speaking enough to fulfil his duties or make his point known.

He had stopped Bruce for only a moment the night before, prior to heading to bed himself, his eyes furious and posture stiff as he had said reprovingly, "I am severely disappointed in you and your actions, Master Bruce."

That was the extent of their interactions in the last 12 hours, and it seemed the man wouldn't be covering for him any longer, either. He hadn't woken Bruce at noon, as he did every day, to have time to prepare for work or even have time to eat before leaving.

The noise behind the door stopped abruptly and Bruce dashed through, taking his chances and hoping not to run in to Alfred on his way there. He grabbed a protein bar and poured a thermos of lukewarm coffee before sprinting out once more, as if he had never been there at all.

He made it to the garage without incident and the drive from the Manor to the office was spent in a silent tailspin as he thought of his actions the night before over and over again.

Really, he hadn't meant to strike Jason after his revelation. He knew he had always had a temper, one that more often than not led him into trouble as a teenager and young man. When he had donned the cowl, though, he had vowed to himself that he would learn to control it better.

He needed to be better than his baser urges and instincts in order to be the hero that the city needed him to be.

But he also needed to be better than his baser urges and instincts in order to be the _father_ that his _children_ needed him to be.

It was hard sometimes, though, when he got so angry that all he saw was red. He wasn't proud of his reactions, and he was positive he had disappointed not only Alfred but the rest of the children, as well, with his actions.

And God, the look in Jason's eyes. He had looked so resigned, like he honestly hadn't expected any better from Bruce, and that more than anything had made Bruce realize just what he had done. He was disgusted with himself, that his own son could look at him as if he had made peace with this part of his life, as if being Bruce's punching bag was normal.

Was he really such a horrible father, that his son was okay with something so horrible from his own father?

The guilt began gnawing at his gut and Bruce could hardly force the protein bar down his throat. It tasted like sawdust in his mouth, and the coffee was burnt and cold when he took a gulp.

As he pulled into WE's parking garage, Bruce still wasn't sure how he was going to fix any of this.

Jason woke to aching muscles, a splitting headache, and someone's elbow jammed into his jaw. In his line of work, it wasn't odd to wake up to mysterious aches and pains in the morning, so he was fairly comfortable taking a few moments to catalogue what exactly was wrong with him. Ribs were aching, but it was more of a muscle strain than anything; his pounding head was easily brushed off from the blow to the head he had gotten the night before; and his swollen face was definitely from the punch Bruce gifted him with. He glanced down at the bed and groaned at the fresh blood that was drying into the sheets. No doubt he had bled through the bandages, too, because it was just that kind of day.

 _Awesome_.

Groaning, he shifted Damian off his shoulder as gently as he could before gracelessly rolling out the opposite side of the bed. His bare feet hit the floor and a shiver prickled up his spine. He ignored the cold, padding over silently to the bathroom to take that shower he probably should have taken the night before.

Ten minutes later, body freshly washed with the high-end samples in the shower and sluggishly bleeding wounds redressed, Jason stepped back into the main room, feeling more human than he had in months.

Even though the revelation that Damian was Bruce's son had set off all of this turmoil, Jason felt lighter now that he wasn't expected to keep such a monumental secret to himself any longer.

The kid was just beginning to stir in the massive bed when Jason walked by. He couldn't stop the fond smile that stretched at his bruised face, wincing a bit at the tug of stretched-taut skin from the swelling on his cheek.

"There is coffee on the counter," Talia offered softly from her perch on the sofa across the room. She had graciously given the bed to the boys, sitting sentry on the sofa herself throughout the night. Jason nodded and grabbed a cup, hoping it would help lessen the headache throbbing just beneath the skin of his temples.

He chose to flop onto the floor before the sofa, leaving the seat for Damian whenever the kid decided to wake up. He could feel Talia's searching gaze like a weight pressing down on him and he attempted to ignore it.

"Jason," she began after five minutes and two more cups of coffee. Jason just wasn't in the mood for such a heavy conversation so early, though.

"Tal, please. Not now." He felt bad, knowing she just wanted to reassure them all, but he was tired, and he was in pain, and it hurt too much to think clearly. The silence stretched between them, tension heavy, before she sighed in exasperation, conceding defeat for now.

"Fine. But we _will_ discuss this."

"Looking forward to it, Mama Tals," he grumbled cheekily. She threw a pillow at his face within seconds, and he fumbled awkwardly to avoid spilling coffee all over himself. "Talia!" he shouted, scandalized.

"Mother?" Damian grumbled moodily, poking a messy head up from his blanket cocoon to glare at them across the room. "What has Jason done now?"

"He is being a silly, stubborn boy," she stated matter of factly, levelling a hard look at him when he attempted to argue. He backed down quickly, though, knowing he didn't have much of a defense.

"Am not," he grumbled good-naturedly, sipping at his coffee while trying not to bask in the simplicity of this moment. He had always wanted this sweet, easy feeling as a child; a mom that joked with him and loved him unconditionally, siblings that egged him on but also looked up to him.

He had had Catherine for a time, until the drugs and the fear and the pain had become too much for her, morphing her into a totally different person and leaving Jason on him own.

He had had Alfred, too, growing up, but he was only one man and he had been limited by his position.

Dick had hated his guts as his replacement when they were kids, so there hadn't been much to miss there, anyway.

Bruce had tried, of course, but the man had always been so emotionally constipated that his efforts often came off wrong, and to a defensive teenager already wondering what the hell he was doing living with a billionaire, his attempts at parenting had been taken hostilely.

Still, it was nice to a have a taste of family life every now and then, even if he knew it wouldn't last forever. Eventually Talia would have to leave, everyone would forgive Bruce, Jason would have to give Damian to his father, and he would be all alone again once more.

This all would be gone soon, and he wasn't sure he could handle being that alone again.

Instead of dwelling on that, he smiled at Talia and Damian, the kid wandering over and carefully slotting himself in next to his mother. Jason grinned at the awkward way Talia wrapped an arm around Dames, like she wasn't so sure how to show physical affection anymore, and Jason's heart hurt for her.

But in this moment, just the three of them sitting there, enjoying each other's company, that was perfect to him.

Tim was studiously ignoring him, only turning the meeting over to Bruce when absolutely necessary, and wouldn't even meet his eyes. The man went through the motions as usual but in the back of his mind, all he could wonder was if this was the way things were going to be now. Would his entire family shun him until he found a way to make things right?

When the room began emptying out for lunch, Bruce cornered Tim and they waited in tense silence until they were alone. The door slid closed behind the final board member and Tim wrenched his arm out of Bruce's light grasp, storming to the head of the table, angrily throwing his papers around on the tabletop.

"I can't believe you're acting like nothing's wrong, like you didn't do anything," Tim finally exploded, facing his suitcase instead of Bruce.

"I'm not acting like everything is fine. I know I've screwed up, I know I've made a mess of all of this," Bruce defended himself, though the words sounded dull and hollow even to himself.

"A mess? Bruce!" Tim slammed the lid of his suitcase down, hands resting in fists on the table as he turned to glare at Bruce, finally meeting his eyes. "This is far beyond a _mess_. How are you going to fix any of this? You've broken Jason's shaky trust in this family, you've ruined any chance you had with Damian. I wouldn't be surprised if they both went home with Talia after this."

"The League is no place for a child," Bruce said, in lieu of anything more intelligent, his face scrunching up in distaste at the thought. Hell, the League hadn't been any place for him at 22, either, when he had trained there beneath Ra's al Ghul himself.

"That's not the point, Bruce. God, this is not my job." He ran a hand over his exhausted face and Bruce felt his heart slowly start sinking in his chest. This hadn't just affected his relationship with one or two of his children, but all of them, it seemed. "I can't do this right now." Tim rushed out of the office without a backwards glance, the door slamming shut behind him in his haste, leaving the sound echoing in the large room.

He hung his head and sighed. This situation was just getting worse and worse.

Bruce was still a generally young and healthy man, however his age and weariness seemed to multiply exponentially the moment his eldest stormed through the study door. Bruce sighed and prepared himself; he was getting tired of having screaming matches in this room. "Are you going to give me the silent treatment, too?" Bruce grumbled from behind his desk. "Or are you going to yell?"

"I think I'll try yelling; Alfred's already got stakes in the silent treatment," Dick snarled back. He wrapped his arms across his chest and began pacing in front of the desk, agitation through the roof.

Bruce leaned back in the chair and sighed. "Listen, Dick-," he began, but Dick cut him off.

"No!" he bit out, pausing his pacing long enough to glare at Bruce face to face. "I can't believe you, Bruce. We literally _just_ go Jason back, and he was doing so well! He was talking to us, he was letting us help, he was coming home! And now that's all ruined because you can't control your temper for five damn minutes!"

Bruce flinched back at the heat behind his words, mulling them over after the shock of the outburst. Jason had been in contact with the others? They had been communicating? He hadn't even known that Jason had been reaching out. Had everyone known about Damian but Bruce?

His anxious, overthinking brain latched on to these questions and the thoughts wouldn't stop. What other secrets were they keeping from him?

His train of thought must have shown on his face because Dick practically exploded moments later. "No. Oh, no. You do _not_ get to do the Bat Glare at me and turn this around on us. Everything was going fine until you started throwing punches, like that every solves anything!"

"Who else knew about Damian?" Bruce asked, trying to keep his voice even and calm but obviously failing at the look Dick was throwing him. Bruce's insides were squirming again at the knowledge that not only Talia and Jason had kept this secret, but the others, as well. "Who, Dick?"

Dick stood his ground, but there was a moment of uncertainty in his eyes, as he hadn't quite agreed with their plan, either. "Tim and I knew about Damian. We met him a couple weeks ago. As far as I know, we were the only ones that knew."

His eyes hardened, then, as he continued. "But that doesn't change the fact that you hurt Jason, when he was already injured, and this isn't the first time you've lashed out at him. This is a bad cycle, Bruce, and it needs to stop now. If you ever want the chance to meet Damian properly, you're going to have to prove to Jason and Talia that you won't hurt him like you've hurt Jason."

"Is that a threat, Dick?" Bruce growled. He never had done well with threats.

"It's a goddamn promise, Bruce." And then he was gone.

Talia had been glaring daggers into Jason's back for the last twenty minutes as he stubbornly dragged on body armor and strapped guns to his uniform. "You are not going on patrol," Talia growled for the third time in as many minutes. There were a lot of things she was willing to put up with for her sons' continued happiness, but watching Jason get hurt again on top of everything else because he was still recovering and too stubborn to admit it was not one of them.

"Talia, I'm fine. Really. I've definitely had worse, believe me."

Talia's face scrunched up in distaste. "I never believe people that say, 'believe me'," she grumbled, though she had to admit she had seen the boy do more with worse injuries than these. Clawing your way out of your own grave did leave you with quite a few wounds in the process. "Be that as it may, you're still not going out. Your siblings will take care of patrol tonight, at least, and you can take one more night to recover."

When Jason still seemed determined, she sighed and grabbed his shoulders, turning him to face her. He was more than half dressed, now, but wincing with every movement. "Please, Jason. Just tonight." He caved fairly quickly beneath her worry, and Talia smiled softly, leading him back to the sofa to rest.

As she tended to him, Damian watched silently from the window seat, his mind already made up. As quietly as possible, he slipped past his brother and mother, out of the room and into the night. He had someone to speak with, and questions to be answered.

He had smuggled his uniform into a bag the day before when they had stopped by the apartment for clean clothes and toiletries. He knew his mother had most likely noticed his departure, but this mission was too important to worry about her displeasure later. He needed answers, and he had to do it tonight, or he might not have another chance.

Scanning the rooftops, hopping from one side of Gotham to the other, Redbird searched for his father. After an hour of fruitless searching, he finally caught sight of his cape, the man perched atop a skyscraper, next to a particularly ugly gargoyle. Redbird scowled at the atheistic; he didn't know architects still subscribed to such gothic visuals, placing gargoyles to guard their rooftops.

He dropped down behind Batman, silent and stealthy as ever, but the man still heard him. He turned to face the boy, the whites of his mask giving nothing of his emotions away.

Even with the cowl on, Redbird could tell Batman was looking him up and down, sizing him up, and Redbird straightened up, feeling the weight of that heavy gaze on him. Redbird marveled at their blatant size difference; he had always heard that his father was tall, but Redbird barely reached halfway up his ribs.

"Redbird," Batman growled softly, inclining his head in acknowledgement, before turning back to study the truly ugly gargoyle. The man barely moved, barely breathe, barely did anything, really.

"Batman," he growled right back, though he realized his voice was no as deep or menacing as his father's. "You and I have some things to discuss." Being blunt always had served him best in the past.

Batman dropped to sit beside the gargoyle, looking out over the city as he nodded his head in agreement. He didn't seem so big now; sitting they were nearly the same height. Redbird settled an arm's length away, crouching on the ledge and glaring out at the city as it began to rain, wondering where to start.

He was just so angry, so confused, so … disappointed.

"You hurt my brother," Redbird finally spat out, tone acidic, hoping the deeper meaning was understood beneath the words he was able to grind out.

Batman nodded again, refusing to meet his burning gaze. "I hurt my son," he corrected softly, and shook his head in disgust at himself. "It seems I do that quite often." At Redbird's disgruntled hum, Batman continued, waving a hand out at the city. "I hurt Jason. I hurt Dick and Tim, and the girls. Alfred. Talia. And now you, as well."

Redbird shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to that statement, even if he agreed with it. "Perhaps you should not do that anymore, then," he stated blandly into the silence.

Batman chuckled lightly and glanced back at the boy now huddled a few feet away, looking like a highly offended cat. Redbird had bristled at his father's laughter, knowing that perhaps his solution had sounded overly childish and simplistic, but sometimes the best solution _was_ the simplest.

"That sounds like a good idea, kid. I'm going to have to practice a bit more at that." He turned back to the city and Redbird scooted a bit closer, attempting to see what was so interesting about the view.

Batman must have noticed his confusion, reaching out to pat the gargoyle on its stony head. "This was always Jason's favorite spot to sit and watch the city as a child. I've never met another person who has a favorite gargoyle, but he did. Always came here to think or catch his breath during patrol."

Redbird nodded, sitting down to look out at the city as his brother apparently had hundreds of times before him, from this very spot, and tried to see the city from his brother's point of view. The lights from the buildings below glowed in the rain, fog hiding half of the surrounding streets from view. The people below were easily seen but there was little to no chance of someone noticing a vigilante sitting on a roof at this height through the darkness.

It was a nice spot, all in all. Advantageous. Calming, in a way.

They sat in silence together for another long moment before Redbird sighed, rising to his feet and readying his grapple gun. As he aimed, he turned one last time to his father, trying to remember everything about him in case this was the last time they ever met.

"I am glad you're here in Gotham, Damian," Batman said, raising his head to meet Redbird's questioning gaze. "I'll fix this, as much as I can. I'll do better, in the future. I have to."

Redbird weighted his response, debating on how to word the feelings he was struggling with, before he gave in and shrugged, turning back to the ledge and shooting off a line.

"You better," he warned, before jumping from the ledge, disappearing from sight within moments as if he had never been there at all.


End file.
